The Lesser Evil
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: After watching Cattibrie die in battle, a grieving Drizzt reexamines his nature as he finds his most sympathetic friends are a drow mercenary and his onetime archenemy.
1. Prologue: Reflection

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: The following story is rated R for strong violence and some sexuality. This is my first fan-fic, so please be easy on me. Constructive reviews gladly welcomed.

Introduction:

_I am nothing like my kin._

_That is a statement I can now make with neither apprehension, nor regrets. _

_It has taken my entire life to say this openly, seventy-seven years of personal horror, self-dissection, and the overwhelming guilt I have always felt simply for my black skin and all the responsibility and connotations that have come with it since the day of my birth. Drow are evil: period. This fact was pounded into my skull every minute of my life by both the denizens of Menzoberranzan in deed and the people of the surface by reputation. No matter how many "good" things I did, no matter how many lives I saved, or how many villains fell under my blades, I was a drow and by default an evil, treacherous monster. Even in those many, many years when I took the role as protector of the goodly folk, I still felt undeserving of the admiration and praise I received simply because I was a drow and therefore naturally wicked no matter what my actions were. When even the most "heroic" renegade of dark elf kind hears from the first second of his recollection that he is a monster, he begins to believe it. My life's work was to be a goodly person who fought villainy and defended the innocent, yet I always felt the pull of my blood towards the actions and reputations more fitting a vile son of Menzoberranzan than a denizen of the surface. So was the grating series of contradictions that was my existence: I was a good person wearing heinous flesh, though I should have been plainly heinous._

_Not any more_

_It has only been in the past few years of personal torture and reflection that I have finally accepted what I am. I have watched my world crumble and have sifted through the remains of all that I once held dear, and in this agony, I have raised a new man who I barely recognize, yet enjoy more than ever. Those around me now have described my rebirth as both a triumph and a tragedy, depending on the individual, though I more agree with the former. Above all, my metamorphosis has led me to one, impenetrable conclusion: my flesh is my flesh, nothing more. The only things for which I can be held accountable are my actions, good and ill. I am not the self-righteous, slave to Lolth who destroys all underneath him in some remote hope that he might please his Matron Mother and not die a horrible death by her hands someday. I am my own master who decides my own fate and lives his life by honor and not fruitless treachery. I am drow, but I am nothing like my kin. _

_It is in this realization that I have come to enjoy the flesh that I have long cursed. I now look at myself in the mirror and see handsome, black skin and long, white hair I keep a little neater these days, and a young face that shows some of the lines of a hard life. It is a little easier to look into those lavender eyes staring back at me and know that I am facing a worthy person and not a monster. It has taken seventy-seven years of mere existence, personal struggles, friends gained and lost, for Drizzt Do'Urden to finally call himself worthy of respect. _

Drizzt Do'Urden


	2. The Wedding Guests

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Chapter 1: The Wedding Guests**

Artemis Entreri hated surprises.

He hated them with a fierce, raging passion, to be precise.

The assassin always relied on planned order; it was his oldest and most reliable friend. So when he woke one morning to find his companion, Jarlaxle, standing over him, wearing his usual, stupid grin and saying:

"I have a little surprise for you, my _khal abbil_,"

Entreri was far from happy.

Artemis Entreri hated surprises with a raging passion, yet here he was, being led through a thick, barely trodden section of the High Forest by his unpredictable partner in pursuit of some kind of surprise. He didn't know why he allowed the flamboyant drow drag him into this position that smelled too much like treachery. He could have stayed at the camp and politely informed his associate that he would have to keep his little surprise to himself, but that only happened in Entreri's head as he stumbled over a dead branch laying over the path as he tried to keep pace with his more nimble companion. He scanned the length of the ever-expanding forest; one hand on his jeweled, life-stealing dagger, the other in the direction of his prized, magic sword, Charon's Claw and all his senses and reflexes ready for anything.

"If you expected a long journey, than why were the horses left at the camp?" Entreri growled. "Did you want to leave two little treats for any passing thief or hungry creature?"

"Relax, friend, the horses have wards on them. The second master dragon clenches his maw in their direction, he will get a mouthful of lightening and our four-legged will be merely perplexed," the drow replied cheerily. "Besides, if we were to charge through these woods on thundering steeds, the surprise would be ruined. Therefore, stealth is of the utmost importance. As you know, stealth and surprise are close cousins."

"I do recall that death is a relative of theirs as well," Entreri said through gritted teeth as he removed a stray twig that had embedded itself into his thick, black hair.

"As is happiness and joy, my grim friend."

"Could you at least tell me where in the Nine Hells this little hike is leading?"

"Now I don't want to spoil our little surprise, but we are going to a small grove but a mile this way. Now no more questions until I am ready to answer them."

Entreri groaned and continued trudging through the heavy brush. At first he suspected treachery, but Jarlaxle seemed to jovial today for a person planning to kill his companion of the past two years; though maybe he had eagerly waited for this moment for a while. After a few more minutes, Jarlaxle stopped where he stood and turned on his heels to face his partner with a swirl of his silver cape. Entreri stopped and swatted away a moth as he regarded the drow. Jarlaxle stood silently, taking in a large breath of fresh, spring air.

"What a happy day this is," the drow said with a song in his voice.

"So is this when I find out the answer to this mystery?" Entreri said.

Jarlaxle bent down and picked a large daisy from the ground, inhaling its sweet aroma as he stood straight, and tucked its long stem in the band of his wide-brimmed, purple hat on the opposite side of the large, diatryma feather. He then walked towards Entreri and placed an ebony hand on his shoulder.

"Now I insist you be on your best behavior," Jarlaxle said. "We wouldn't want you to make a scene and ruin this happy event."

Entreri shot him a curious look and was about to say something, but then he felt a slight pressure against his ribcage. His gray eyes turned down to see a small dagger pressed against his black, leather vest.

"What is this for?" Entreri asked calmly, holding back the urge to rip the dagger from the drow's hand and find a creative place to stick it.

"Nothing you need to fret over," Jarlaxle replied. "All I request of you now is to follow me and be a good sport about the little event you are about to attend. This is a day of happiness, and I think you might enjoy yourself. Now, just a few more steps and you shall have your surprise.

The assassin took another look at the dagger and then met Jarlaxle's calm, yet pleading expression, nodding slowly.

"Fine," he said, "I will be a good little boy. Lead on."

The drow smiled and patted him on the shoulder before nudging him forward to continue the journey, the dagger never leaving its place the entire way. The two walked further through the wood and heard the rising noise of a small crowd. After a few more steps, Entreri peered through the trees to see a gathering of various people all dressed in their fanciest clothes. The two inched closer and took a place beside a large fir that allowed them a clear view of the crowd at a close proximity while allowing them to be unnoticed.

The crowd stood scattered around a small, open section of the wood strewn with garlands of white flowers. Entreri counted around forty-five people in total, many human and elven, but most were dwarf. He didn't recognize any one in particular, but when his eyes reached the front of the crowd, his stomach dropped. Standing in a brown vest over a baggy, white shirt with plain, leather breeches was the dwarven king Bruenor Battlehammer, his red beard tied into braids and his gruff face streaked in tears. Next to him was a large, muscular human whose long, blond hair fell over the shoulders of his blue tunic. Beside Wulfgar was a brown-haired halfling in a garish, red cape over simple traveler's clothes, clutching a white rose in the same hand of which Entreri had liberated a few fingers several years ago.

The assassin didn't want his eyes to wander to the front of the group, but they did anyway to first see a male moon elf facing the crowd in green robes on which hung a wooden pendant of a unicorn's head. Next to the priest of Mielikki stood an all-too familiar dark elf clad in a long, brown, leather vest over a green, linen tunic embroidered with leaves. He wore brown, leather trousers similar to his vest and black, leather boots that reached the tops of his slender calves. His thick, white hair was pulled back in a ponytail, though a thin, white braid brushed against his beaming, ebony face.

Entreri shot a glare to Jarlaxle, who regarded the event with a wide grin. The assassin looked back at his one time arch nemesis and felt his limbs grow numb. The last time he had seen Drizzt Do'Urden was a year back in a tavern in Waterdeep, when Jarlaxle made an attempt at using the ranger's name as an alias. The old bartender simply smiled at him and chuckled.

"So if you're Drizzt Do'Urden, then who's that fellow standing behind you?" the old man said.

Entreri looked back to see a man who should have been dead, but there he was standing with a glass of wine in his hand, lavender eyes wide with stunned surprise. Entreri felt the urge to retch and rip his heart out all in the same second. Instead the two locked stares for what seemed like an eternity, before the assassin groaned and turned toward the door. No blows were traded and no weapons were drawn. He barely even listened when Jarlaxle explained later how his cleric lieutenant, Rai'gy Bondalek, healed his wound on the mercenary's request. All the assassin recalled was hearing something about "His father and I were good friends" and "I wanted to free your mind," though the rest was all a blur of his own struggling pride. After getting a jeweled dagger through the chest, Drizzt Do'Urden was still alive and Artemis Entreri, his intended murderer, didn't care. That part of Entreri's life was over, or so he had hoped. Now he was standing in a grove watching the happiest look he had ever seen on the face of a man he still despised for reasons he could never comprehend.

Entreri was only given a minute to fully digest the situation when the crowd parted and a young woman in a flowing, white dress walked through the middle, her auburn hair crowned with a wreath of leaves and flowing down her shoulders. As the assassin's gaze fell to the bouquet of multi-colored wildflowers she held in her hand, he gave a defeated sigh and decided to ignore the dagger that was still pressed to his chest.

Drizzt scanned the crowd, face frozen in a smile, regarding every hard-earned friend who blessed him with their presence on this wonderful day. He shot a glance to Bruenor, who was the most nervous and emotional he had ever seen him. Wulfgar flashed him a warm smile, but the drow could tell this day was hard for him after all his personal struggles over his feelings for Catti-brie. Regis was like a little ball of sunshine, his smile sending a ray of warmth to the nervous groom. His gaze then returned to Catti-brie, looking the most radiant he had ever seen her.

Together at last, he thought to himself, his smile widening as he mentally caressed her thick, red hair. As Catti-brie walked forward and shot her own glances to her adoptive father and best friends, Drizzt once again looked into the crowd; a small gathering of close friends amid the splendor of the forest. He couldn't have asked for a more beautiful wedding to his beloved Catti-brie.

As he scanned the back of the crowd, a sudden, purple flash caught his eye. He peered a little beyond the trees and saw a wide-brimmed purple hat adorned with a large plume on one side and a daisy on the other. His eyes widened as he stared at the familiar drow, who met his gaze with a broad smile and a tip of his hat. Drizzt then noticed the black-clad figure close beside him. The man's head was slightly bowed and his face was obscured by the brim of a black bolero hat, but his keen vision soon saw the angled face and cold, gray eyes of Artemis Entreri.

_Don't mind us_ Jarlaxle's fingers said in drow sign language. _We are merely well-wishers on your joyous day. I guarantee Master Entreri will behave himself._

Drizzt looked down and saw Jarlaxle holding a dagger to Entreri's chest with his other hand. In his mix of confusion and borderline panic, he looked to his arch-nemesis for any immediate signs of struggle, though the assassin's normally confident posture seemed slumped, almost defeated. Entreri looked up and glared at him, but Drizzt observed an expression more of weary resentment than the poisonous rage he wore every time they were in each other's company.

Amazingly, the assassin's long mouth slowly turned up in a reluctant smirk. The drow returned the smile, a part of him sensing the white flag had been finally raised. Drizzt looked again at Jarlaxle and gave a knowing wink, which was greeted with a wide grin and another tip of a plumed hat.

The groom gave a long sigh, his gaze fixing on his beautiful bride as he stood and savored the greatest day of his life.

"On this spring morn, by the blessings of Mielikki and all those who have gathered here in love," the cleric said, raising his hands over the bride and groom, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. May this union be sealed with a kiss."

Drizzt and Catti-brie Do'Urden threw their arms around each other and kissed passionately to a fanfare of loud cheers and shower of white flower petals. They then broke and faced their guests, an arm slung over each other's shoulders. Regis was jumping up and down cheering as the entire group of dwarves raised their fists and gave roars of victory. Bruenor joined in the dwarven salute, though his beard was soaked in tears. Wulfgar clapped and cheered, though his face bore a look of deep pain.

Drizzt then looked to his unexpected guests at the back of the crowd and saw Jarlaxle holding his hat out as shooting stars sprang forth from inside to join the shower of petals, an effect subtle enough to be pretty, yet not attract attention to his presence. He then gave a sweeping bow and returned the hat to his bald head. Entreri remained still, though he met Drizzt's gaze and slowly clapped his gloved hands with an expression of humble defeat.

Jarlaxle gave one last bow, placing his dagger back in its concealed sheath on his belt, and turned to walk away. Entreri stood for a few seconds and flashed a final glance at his one-time enemy, before giving a slight shrug and walking in the direction of his companion.

With his keen ears locked on the cheering crowd, Jarlaxle walked away from the merriment. Fortunately, his ears also caught the sound of heavy boots not far behind him.

"I'm glad to see you decided not to create any new widows," he said, though the dark elf half expected his comment to be met with a dagger to the back.

He looked back to Entreri, whose gaze was fixed on the grass, arms folded over each other and not readying blades. Instead the assassin was silent, his expression almost pensive. Jarlaxle smiled and started whistling a Waterdhavean love song as the two walked through the forest in the direction of their camp.


	3. Friendly Correspondence

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Warning: Light slash

Chapter 3: Friendly Correspondence

Drizzt recognized the short, scruffy human the second he came into view. Sunrise was still an hour away, but the drow's eyes were perfectly suited to peer over the crags of Kelvin's Cairn and see the man, a heavyset ruffian clad in tattered clothes, heaving up the hill and grumbling under his wheezing breath. He was a professional courier from Luskan whom Jarlaxle employed every time he and his assassin companion were in the North. Drizzt remembered from Jarlaxle's first letter that the man was named Godfrey, though he always referred to him as "the messenger."

"Too stingy to hire a more able courier, aren't you _abbil_?" Drizzt muttered to himself as he rose from his rocky perch and bounded down the hill, his bare feet never missing a hold.

A few seconds later, the dexterous drow was on the path and just a few feet from the courier, his black skin blending him with the lingering shadows of dusk. The messenger plodded along his path, oblivious to the dark, slender figure now standing just a few inches away.

"I hope your master is paying you well for your service," Drizzt said, stepping into view.

The messenger jumped and mumbled several indecipherable curses (though the term "damn drow" was the clearest). He then stiffened hastily in a miserable attempt at looking professional.

"Drizzit Dudden?" the messenger croaked.

"That would be me," Drizzt replied in a slightly annoyed tone, rolling his eyes at the usual mispronunciation of his name.

The courier held out a white scroll tied with a black ribbon and sealed with black wax. As the dark elf reached for the scroll, a small bag flew from his other hand and whizzed past theman's face, landing in the snow with a light chink. The messenger jumped in surprise again and stared at the bag. He then looked up to find the drow running up the hill.

"Wait for me," Drizzt yelled back, "I shall return soon."

Once he reached the top of the hill, Drizzt sat back on the rock he left earlier, untied the ribbon, and broke the seal on the scroll. Ever since attending Drizzt's wedding two years ago, Jarlaxle regularly sent letters: most of them recounting his adventures with Artemis Entreri, though occasionally he would slip in a word or two of friendly advice or even an anecdote about Zaknafein, Drizzt's late father and Jarlaxle's late friend. Drizzt happily responded to all of them with his own details of his more peaceful existence with his wife and friends in Icewind Dale. Over the past few years, Jarlaxle had gone from being a mysterious presence to a good friend. Ever since having him healed of the mortal wound from Entreri's dagger five years ago, along with many other occasions on which the mercenary showed honor despite his ingrained malevolence, Drizzt was happy to realize that at least one other member of his race was capable of some goodness.

Drizzt unfurled the scroll and scanned the letter. The ever cautious Jarlaxle, fully aware that another party might read his scrolls, always wrote his letters to Drizzt in Common and used no specific names. Drizzt, however, recognized the mercenary's eloquent writing style and flowing, intricate script that was impossible to copy. The note read:

_To the esteemed Master Do'Urden,_

_I hope this letter finds you and your lovely wife in good health and good spirits. It has been business as usual, for there is no rest for the wicked. My associate and I have captured at least twenty rogues in our work and put them to "justice" (what a funny little word that is). Not so good was the arrogant noble whose hide we actually had to protect for a week as he visited his mistress in Waterdeep. Fortunately, we failed our mission and received compensation for it anyway (I love incidental poisonings). By the way, if you're ever in Skullport, I recommend this little establishment called The Squire's Meadhouse. That little tavern makes the best meatloaf (though the nature of the "meat" they use is a fact I would prefer to keep unknown). I enjoyed my dinner, but it didn't agree to well with my companion, who was leaning over a bowl all night long (and he always had the strongest constitution, sad really). _

_I hope you are braving this nasty, Sword Coast winter, though I am glad spring is only a short ways away. I am now looking out my window over Half Moon Street and already see small patches of grass along the buildings. If you hadn't guessed already, I am close to your little neck of Faerûn. My partner and I have been chasing this little band of thugs all the way up the coast, though unfortunately they seemed to have evaded us by just a few miles. Last we heard they were heading north, though I cannot think of any place up there they would rob, though you know the area better than I. If you would like to take part in the hunt, you're assistance and your blades are greatly appreciated, though I'm sure are not interested in such an adventure._

_Well, I am off to save the world, though isn't that your job? Anyway, if you crazy lovers decide to have children at last, please let me know. Maybe you can name the lad after me, I would be greatly honored. May all the goodly gods in the universe spare your life for a few more centuries._

_Until we meet again_

_Sincerely,_

_The King of all Scoundrels_

Drizzt put the scroll down and contemplated what he just read. Jarlaxle wrote the letter from Luskan and mentioned a band of thieves traveling up the coast. He then recalled stories spread all the way from Baldur's Gate about a gang of about seven master highwaymen who traveled up the coast, robbing and killing traders and travelers at random before moving to their next target. According to the reports, the group was a tightly organized collective of fighters who were all masters of strategy and deadly with enchanted blades and other magical items. Odds were good that Jarlaxle and Entreri were chasing them to take a few heads (literally or figuratively) for the large rewards they were sure to collect. If Jarlaxle's reports were correct, the band was likely on its way to Icewind Dale.

Drizzt rose and bounded down the hill once again to find the messenger relieving himself on the side of the road.

"When did you leave Luskan?" Drizzt asked.

The messenger jumped and hastily finished his business as he looked at the dark elf from over his shoulder.

"Um…four days ago," he said, re-stringing his trousers. "Started over them hills after high sun the first day, then got caught in a squall. Then I couldn't find my waterskin, so that took up another whole day."

Drizzt looked down at the ground and digested the information. Luskan was only a day's travel, so if Jarlaxle wrote his letter four or five days ago, the band was late in coming, or would never come at all. If they had already arrived in Icewind Dale, their presence would not go unnoticed for four days.

"I would leave you a message, good sir, but I hope to speak to your master in person very soon," Drizzt said, "Or at least I should see him for the sake of his own neck."

The ranger bowed and was climbing the hill a second later. Jarlaxle may have been honorable, but he was still not the most trustworthy, nor reliable individual. Maybe the letter was another ploy to coax Drizzt into a less than desirable situation for the mercenary's own purposes, though the guardian of Icewind Dale couldn't take any chances. He planned a venture to Bryn Shander in the next few hours to inform Elderman Cassius of the possible threat, though he would say he heard a story on the road from a passing merchant. If Jarlaxle planned any foul play, Drizzt would make sure he wouldn't get away with anything. If Jarlaxle's warning was legitimate, the Dale would be prepared. While his mind was focused on the situation, his attention came to the sky, which was now a bright orange. The drow then paused and took in a beautiful sunrise that stung his eyes for just a second before putting his heart more at ease.

Drizzt then climbed over the hill and walked through the shallow snow and patches of grass to a small cave entrance. He pulled back the brown, canvas door and walking into a warm, dark cavern adorned with a few pelts on the walls and a small, green mat by a long cot piled with blankets and the sleeping form of Catti-brie Do'Urden. Drizzt walked up to the cot and gently came to his knees beside his wife, inhaling her warm aroma as he lay down beside her. Her blue eyes fluttered open to see her husband looking so happy and comfortable at her side.

"Morning, dearest," she said, reaching over and grabbing a handful of white hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. After a short while, they pulled back and Catti-brie noticed the scroll in Drizzt's hand.

"Jarlaxle?" she asked with almost a groan.

Drizzt told her about the mercenary's appearance at their wedding and she was fully aware of their correspondence. She still considered Jarlaxle a silver-tongued villain who brought nothing but danger, but she also trusted her husband's favorable judgment of his pen-pal's honor and knew Jarlaxle was too far away to cause any real trouble at the moment.

"Yes, he's up to his usual tricks," Drizzt sighed. "But that's not important now."

He threw the scroll on top of the chest beside their bed as he locked his wife in a strong kiss and locked his hands around her waist. Catti-brie wrapped her arms around his slender body, running one hand slowly down his spine and clutching the fabric of his tunic. Drizzt pulled himself up slightly and allowed her to slip the linen shirt off his body, revealing his tightly muscled, ebony torso. The kiss resumed as her hands ran up and down his taut chest and he undid the buttons on her loose, white sleep shirt, gradually pulling it off to reveal her full, bare form. He then lay on top of her; savoring the softness and warmth of his bare skin against hers as he felt her hands unstring his trousers and slide them down. Drizzt kicked the leather breeches to the floor and allowed his body its high desire, smiling and knowing that he was the happiest creature in the universe.

The tracks were slightly obscured by the stiff breeze, but they were clear enough for Artemis Entreri to read perfectly.

_They passed through here less than an hour ago_, he said to his partner in drow hand code.

_All seven?_ Jarlaxle signed back from his high perch in an adjacent fir tree.

_All seven, _Entreri replied.

_The tracks lead northwest, _Jarlaxle signed, _as far out as the horizon._

Jarlaxle jumped from his perch and levitated to the ground beside his companion.

"Since Icewind Dale is just a mile northwest, we know where they will stop next," the drow said.

"I hope you realize that this is too much for the two of us," Entreri said. "We've been chasing these bastards for a month and the closest we've come to any of them was those fire balls they threw at us, remember? I'm just dying to see their tricks in combat, but I have this attachment to my skin right now."

"That's why it won't be just the two of us," Jarlaxle replied, removing his hat and reaching inside.

"Please tell me you were drunk when you came up with this plan," the assassin groaned. "Even if Do'Urden and his heroic little friends are not off fighting dragons, what makes you think he will make our job any easier?"

"Because the favored prey of goodly warriors is evil doers," Jarlaxle replied, producing a small mirror and placing the hat back on top of his bald head. "Especially if the evil-doers infest his beloved home. Master Drizzt and his associates will be all over those bandits like Matron Baenre's snake whip on an inept slave."

Jarlaxle said a brief command word and looked into the mirror. Entreri eyed him curiously as a large grin crept over the drow's face, his white eyebrows rising high.

"Remind me to give Godfrey an extra tip the next time we go to Luskan," Jarlaxle said, looking intently at the glass. "He is clearly a reliable messenger."

The assassin stepped closer to Jarlaxle and looked over his shoulder, looking into the mirror to see a full, clear image of a red-haired woman and a dark elf…

"That's just perfect," Entreri groaned, rolling his eyes and turning from the glass.

"As you can tell, Master Do'Urden is not off fighting dragons," the drow said with a laugh. "As for rescuing the princess…"

"I hope this little peep show has a purpose besides your own gratification." Entreri growled.

"It was nothing more than a small scry charm on the seal of my letter to the happy husband," he replied, not taking his eyes off the mirror. "I just wanted to make sure he was home. I didn't expect that he would be entertaining the Mrs. at the same time, though I swear she has the breasts of a nymph."

"I've seen better. Okay, end this indulgence in your sick fetishes and let's continue where we left off," Entreri spat as he grabbed Jarlaxle's wrist.

"Don't worry, this will be done soon. Right about…now."

Entreri accidentally caught a glance in the mirror and flinched away with a groan as Jarlaxle gave another cackle.

"Congratulations, Artemis Entreri," the drow said between chuckles, "You have located Drizzt Do'Urden's hidden blade. Catti-brie is a very lucky woman, for I believe we have found the next Blackstaff."

Entreri smacked the mirror out of Jarlaxle's hand with an angry grunt as Jarlaxle doubled over in laughter. The assassin walked away and took a few deep breaths as he scanned the horizon. Suddenly, a large, fiery flash in the distance caught his attention.

"I think we found our bandits," he said, drawing his sword and dagger and walking fast in the direction of the flare.

Jarlaxle's smile melted as he bent down for the mirror and ran towards his partner.

The bright flash illuminated the cave through the thick canvas over the entrance. Drizzt sprang to his feet, picking up his pants and putting them on as he moved for the door. Catti-brie rose and grabbed her trousers and tunic from the clothesline on the other side of the cave, donning them hastily and throwing Drizzt's tunic back to him.

"What in the Nine Hells was that?" she said.

Drizzt put on his tunic, then grabbed the lid of the trunk, flinging it open and sending the scroll across the room.

"You know those bandits who have been moving up the coast?" he said, pulling his mithril shirt from the box and sliding it on.

"I've heard, why?" Catti-brie asked, putting on her leather vest.

Drizzt then reached in a corner for the belt containing his scimitars.

"Looks like Jarlaxle was right about something," he said, putting the belt around his waist.


	4. Everything He Lived For

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: I would like to give huge thanks to my lone reviewer Waldfee. Thank you for your kind words, they really helped. I would really appreciate any other comments fom anyone else, especially anyon howI could liven this story up a bit.

**Chapter 3: Everything He Lived For**

It didn't take them long to find the source of the explosion. After a few minutes of walking through a shallow section of wood, Drizzt, Catti-brie, and Guenwhyvar came across what looked to have been an encampment that was now a mess of burning tinder and canvas. Next to the wreckage was a pile of charred remains frozen on the ground in a fetal position. Catti-brie gave a frustrated groan as she approached the tent and picked at the ashes with her longsword (a wedding gift from Drizzt).

"It looks like this poor fellow was a hunter or perhaps a trader." she said grimly, motioning towards a partially burnt sack by the tent. "This pack probably contained skins, but it's all gone now."

Drizzt eyed the scene in disgust, though he kept his keen ears open to the cause of this calamity, probably a thief with a magical toy or perhaps a wizard. He gripped the hilts of his scimitars tightly, readying himself to spring at any moment and watching as Guenwhyvar walked around the perimeter as he instructed her earlier.

"I assume this is the work of those bandits you spoke of earlier," Catti-brie said.

"A magical explosion and a dead fur trader: this is most certainly them," Drizzt responded as he scanned the trees.

A sudden, low growl off to the distance caught their attention. Catti-brie sheathed her sword and drew her magic bow, Taulmaril, nocking a heat-seeking arrow and aiming towards the direction of Guenwhyvar's growl. Drizzt leapt to the opposite side and concealed himself among the firs as he watched the panther readying to spring at an unseen enemy.

The cat leapt up and was thrown down by a mass of fiery bolts shot from the necklace of a now-visible man. Catti-brie shot her bow and a silver streaking arrow landing in the bandit's shoulder, taking off his arm and a large section of his chest in a spray of blood and leaving him dead before crashing to the ground. Drizzt heard a sudden swish of brush behind him and swung Twinkle at the right time to parry a wicked-looking longsword. The blade's wielder, a bald human with a scraggly mustache, growled before disengaging the sword and swinging for Drizzt's side, only to meet Icingdeath in a hail of sparks. A split-second later, the sword was half an inch from the drow's neck before crashing against Twinkle at a force that numbed Drizzt's arm. As the duel continued, the ranger became aware of the human's unnaturally swift movements and the red bracers on his arms.

A scream of metal to the side caught the drow's attention as he looked over for a second to see his wife engaged with a small, scrawny man with a rapier and similar bracers. That brief glance led to a stinging slice on his right forearm as the bandit scored a minor hit, his magical bracers allowing him an advantage over his momentarily distracted foe. Drizzt growled and launched into a flurry of motion, his swords taking rapid feints against the bandit before scoring some small gashes on his leg and shoulder.

"Drizzt!" Catti-brie screamed from behind. Drizzt looked over to see another rough-looking man in red bracers and parried Icingdeath just in time before a sword went for his neck. Soon, he was battling two foes with magical speed and soon feeling a few more minor slashes to his leg and hip. He stepped back and shuffled his feet in various directions, using his own magical bracers to keep the bandits at bay for a second and conjure a globe of darkness over both. With his opponents covered, he charged into the globe, only to find it evaporate into the ruby ring of his second opponent, who stood for a second to enact the spell and charge back at the confused dark elf. Drizzt recovered his wits enough to step back as a sword was shoved at his chest. He erupted into another flurry, but the ache in his injured arm told him the cut had gone deeper than he thought. He thankfully found a split-second opening at the first man's neck and the dexterous drow swung Twinkle through flesh and bone, severing his head and leaving him on the ground.

The remaining bandit didn't seem to notice as he continued his own motions, getting a deeper slice into the upper section of Drizzt's already-injured arm. As the ranger howled and charged at his opponent, he saw another bandit run from the brush. Drizzt felt sick as the new opponent came closer. His energy was waning and his arm hurt unbearably.

Suddenly, a dark figure sprang behind the man and the tip of a blade burst through the bandit's chest. With a downward slice, the bandit crumpled as blood gushed from his broken body. Before Drizzt knew what was happening, his own opponent suddenly froze and dropped his sword. He fell forward, revealing a dagger stuck in the back of his skull and a garishly clad dark elf behind him wearing a smug look. Drizzt's eyes went wide as he gave a loud, gleeful cackle.

"Sorry we're late," Jarlaxle said calmly, "but we were rather engaged for a while."

Catti-brie's opponent was stunned by the drow's sudden appearance, leaving him open for Catti-brie to thrust her sword through his chest and send him flying to the ground.

Drizzt shot Jarlaxle a teasingly mad glare before shifting Twinkle to his other hand and clapping him on the shoulder. Catti-brie gave a surprised look upon seeing Jarlaxle, and then her eyes shot wide as Artemis Entreri emerged from the brush, wiping the blood off Charon's Claw with a corner of his cape.

"Dear gods I never thought I'd be glad to see you," Drizzt said as Entreri drew nearer.

The assassin rolled his eyes before looking at Drizzt.

"Maybe I could say the same," Entreri said dourly.

"How many did you get?" Drizzt asked, looking first at Entreri, then at Jarlaxle.

"Three," the mercenary replied with a grin. "It wasn't easy, but they are all corpses now."

"I've heard there were seven in total," Drizzt said.

"One with an axe and two swordsmen back in the wood," Entreri said. "Three swordsmen and an amateur wizard right in front of us. Unless they carried more cronies in their bags, that would be all of them."

Drizzt looked to the path and saw Guenwhyvar limping in pain. He winced and removed the statue from his pouch.

"So sorry, my friend," he said, rubbing behind her ear. "Go home and rest."

The panther then faded to mist and was soon gone. Jarlaxle walked towards him with a look of wonder.

"How I would love to have an animal like that," he said.

"I'm sure you can find one somewhere," Drizzt said, turning back to Catti-brie to find her staring at the group in silent awe, still not adjusted to the sight of the two mercenaries in front of her.

She never noticed the swordsman behind her, who took a strong swing through the side of her neck and out a section of her shoulder. The three men in front stood stunned as Catti-brie Do'Urden's face relaxed as her head slid forward and the rest of her body crashed backwards. The swordsman, a chunky man with stringy gray hair and an unkempt beard, then roared in pain as a dagger flew into his hip socket, embedding itself firmly between the leg bone and pelvis.

Time seemed to slow for Drizzt, who stared down at Catti-brie's mutilated body, his muscles seizing and his breaths merely staggered gasps. His gaze slowly moved from his wife's corpse to the bastard who killed her, now writhing on the ground screaming.

"Take him!" Jarlaxle cried.

Drizzt didn't move. He only stared at the killer in front of him, his screams soothing the drow's angry soul. He walked up to the bandit, who tried to pull the dagger from his hip, though the pain was too strong and the blade was two deep.

"If he turns the paladin and lets that ruffian live, I swear I will kill them both," Jarlaxle growled to his partner.

Entreri shook his head and stared at Drizzt, observing his gray complexion, trembling hands, and lavender eyes, which were now like two pools of ice.

"Trust me," Entreri said in awe. "That man will die soon."

Drizzt stared at the struggling man, remembering every moment he had ever shared with Catti-brie: the first moment they met, the adventures they shared, the first kiss, those first moments of passion, their beautiful wedding, and every second her head slid off as her body crumpled to the ground. In a flash, Icingdeath swiped off the man's left arm, sending forth a spurt of blood and more screams.

"Do you know who you just killed," Drizzt said calmly, his bare foot stepping on the dagger and pushing down slowly. "That was my wife."

The bandit howled and grabbed the drow's ankle with his remaining arm, only to lose it a second later. Drizzt shook the severed arm off his ankle, and then jumped to a crouch, taking the dagger's hilt in his slender hand and twisting it. His frenzied mind suddenly recalled his sister Briza's similar technique, remembering to twist and push slowly to cause maximum pain while allowing the victim to live longer. Drizzt continued this movement, remembering his wife's laugh and the feel of her soft skin while drinking in the screams and flowing blood of the man who took her away.

Jarlaxle and Entreri stood still as they watched this scene in almost reverential silence. While Jarlaxle wore a small smile, Entreri was expressionless. In his long, hard life he had seen many who committed acts of torture to release anger. He had also seen hardened soldiers who lost their minds after witnessing the deaths of friends, wives, children, and the like. This, however, was different. Artemis Entreri was now witnessing a golden soul melt, a hero who lost everything he lived for and now wore the enraged face of any other drow torturer. It was a scene he found horrifying and gratifying at the same time.

"Just kill me," the bandit screamed, though weak from the blood loss. "Kill me, you black-skinned son of a bitch!"

Entreri walked forward, removing his magical gauntlet from his side bag and putting it on.

Drizzt's twisting stopped momentarily as he stared at the man's broken body. Then a jeweled hilt came in front of his face, the blade held by a red gauntlet.

"Do as he says, Do'Urden," Entreri whispered in his ear. "Finish him."

Drizzt glanced up at the assassin, and then grabbed the hilt.

"Just hold it in his flesh for one full second," he said, letting go of the blade.

The drow looked at the dagger, then at Catti-brie's murderer.

"Enjoy the Nine Hells," Drizzt said, thrusting the blade through the bandit's chest, waiting a second and feeling the cold rush of the killer's life pouring through his body. The bandit's flesh went pale as his face snapped into a look of terror, his breath now a series of choking gasps. Drizzt felt his own wounds closing and energy coursing through his veins; the greatest sensation he ever knew in his life. He leaned over and savored the rush, as well as his victim's horror. Then the flow of life stopped. Drizzt fell to his back, his muscles still trembling as he slowly regained his senses.

The ranger sat up, reorienting himself to his new reality. He looked at the dagger again and shoved it into the muddy ground before slowly coming to his shaking legs. Drizzt looked at the man's body in a daze, then at Entreri and Jarlaxle, then to Catti-brie. He stumbled to his wife and fell to his knees beside her, taking her head in his trembling hands and putting it back on her neck. Nothing else existed in the world at that point: not the wood, not the dead bandits, not the two mercenaries. Nothing else existed but his beloved, his wife, his best friend lying dead before him. He put one hand through her auburn hair as the other brushed down her face, closing her blue eyes forever.

Drizzt let out a pained groan that quickly erupted into a series of rising sobs. He clutched Catti-brie in his arms and wailed, his body nothing more than a trembling mass of flesh.

Jarlaxle stood numb for a second, and then walked over to Drizzt, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and kneeling next to him. Entreri bent down to retrieve his dagger from the ground, his eyes never leaving the broken dark elf in front of him. He heard Jarlaxle whisper some soothing words in his ear that sounded like drow, yet he didn't care to pay attention.

He just watched as the perpetually stoic Drizzt Do'Urden crumbled to pieces as Entreri felt his own hands start to shake and a building heat rise behind his eyes. It wasn't more than a pressure headache, he thought. The burn grew, a heat the assassin last remembered when he was a child crushed by the streets of Calimport and the fists of so many false heroes. Then the salty drop welled from his eye and streamed down his cheek.

"Gods dammit!" he spat, scraping off the tear with the back of his gloved hand as if it was a vile substance. Jarlaxle be damned; he wanted to slay Do'Urden where sat, finally ending his miserable existence and sending him to his damn wife in eternity. Though even if he desired the ranger's death, his body wouldn't allow him to move from that spot. Artemis Entreri just stared at the wailing dark elf before, a mirror of his own soul he was no longer afraid to face.

"You two should go," Drizzt managed to say through heavy sobs. "Someone could come here and recognize you both."

Jarlaxle nodded, gave Drizzt a last pat on the shoulder, then rose.

"I say we take as many heads as we can and return to Luskan," he said to his partner, who nodded slowly.

"Fare well, _khal abbil_," the mercenary said to his young friend. "And may beautiful Catti-brie rest in peace."

He then reached into his pocket and produced a small, adamantine disk.

"I'm sure you recognize this," Jarlaxle said, handing the disk to Drizzt.

Drizzt recognized the image of a spider holding a different weapon in each leg with the letters "DN" written in the spider's body: the seal of House Do'Urden.

"It was your father's," the mercenary said. "I meant to give it to you under happier circumstances, but I also possess the one your brother had when he was in Bregan D'aerthe." Jarlaxle then produced a similar disk from the same pocket. "I'm sure you know how to use it, so summon me whenever you feel the need. And don't worry, no one else cares about the seal of a long fallen house, so no one else will intercept the message"

"Thank you, Jarlaxle," Drizzt replied weakly.

Jarlaxle bowed, and then ran off into the woods. Drizzt's gaze fixed on the ground as Entreri walked past him. The assassin then stopped, pondering something he would have never thought to do. He walked back to Drizzt, held his hand out in hesitation, and clapped him firmly, yet stiffly on the shoulder. The drow met his gaze briefly to see the assassin's eyes red, his face grim. Entreri then turned and walked in the direction of his partner.

Drizzt closed his eyes, having just received the warmest gesture he had felt in his life.


	5. Still a Drow

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: A huge thanks to everyone who has sent me comments, they have really encouraged me. A few readers have also drawn my attention to a character portrayal that I do agree needs some smoothing out, so stay tuned to see if this works. And yes, I am evil.

FYI: The drow phrase at the end of the chapter is quoted directly from Salvatore _(Servant of the Shard_ to be exact) so no criticisms of my translation please.

**Chapter 4: Still a Drow**

She lay on a thick bed of evergreens and maple branches, her face bearing a look of eternal peace despite the circumstances that took her from the world. Catti-brie never liked wearing dresses, so they all made sure she would meet her final rest in her favorite worn trousers and loose white tunic, boots on her feet, a small bundle of multi-colored wildflowers, fresh sprouts from the sunny side of Kelvin's Cairn, clenched between her cold fingers. Her auburn hair flowed freely down her shoulders, framing her forever-beautiful face and tumbling below the green scarf that was wrapped around her neck.

The dwarf cleric, Stumpet Rakingclaw, stood at her head, saying sacred words blessing her transition to a peaceful afterlife. She occasionally looked up from the body of her old friend up to see the somber, tear-streaked faces of the four men Catti-brie Do'Urden held the most dear: her adopted father Bruenor Battlehammer, her husband Drizzt Do'Urden, her adopted brother Wulfgar, and her old friend and traveling companion Regis. Regis wept openly, his little hand wrapped over his face. Bruenor did all he could to remain standing; his sturdy body trembled as he let out gasping sobs. Wulfgar stood silent, trying to maintain a façade of strength despite his red eyes and occasional painful sigh. Drizzt just stood and stared at his wife with heavy eyes, feeling an ever-expanding emptiness in his heart. He tried to connect with nature and feel the presence of Mielikki, yet all he felt was the weight of his soul. His lavender eyes were red from exhaustion, yet he could feel no tears.

Drizzt Do'Urden remembered the moment he stopped crying. It was three days ago back in that horrible stretch of wood as he cradled his wife's body. The exact second after Artemis Entreri gave him a stiff pat on the shoulder, his tears just stopped, replaced by a heavy numbness that never lifted. He barely registered the clops of hooves and the sight of a fisherman from Targos and his two teenage sons riding towards him after a day of hunting. Old Rolf Harney must have helped him to his feet because he suddenly realized he was standing and watching young Daley and Karl wrap Catti-brie in a brown, wool blanket. Drizzt remembered uttering a few gasping words about what happened, though Rolf's expression told the ranger his words were understood. Drizzt just recognized the burning in his stomach and the ache behind his eyes.

The only time he felt any other emotion was the slight burst of anxiety when both boys said they saw two men running away from the scene. Drizzt just muttered something about how the two were bounty hunters claiming their prize and they should be left alone.

Fortunately, the matter was not pursued further and Drizzt was left to his sadness. They all left the wood in a somber procession. Catti-brie's body was tied onto the back of Rolf's horse and her husband led the animal to the dwarven caves.

Since that day, Drizzt sealed himself in Catti-brie's old room in her father's caverns locked away by the cold stones and his numb melancholy. He would sit against the wall and hear the screams of each dwarf as the terrible news quickly spread. Then came Bruenor's sickening roar and Regis' quiet whimpers and Drizzt knew the two had just received the worst homecoming of their lives. For the next two days, the occasional dwarf would enter Drizzt's room to offer gruff condolences and the rare pat on the shoulder before leaving. Regis came in once, though his words were brief before he practically ran out. Bruenor never visited. Stumpet told him the king's grief also locked him in his chambers, though he occasionally ventured out to his feast hall to soak his tears in ale and song. Wulfgar arrived from the Tribe of the Elk the next day, though he never made his presence known to Drizzt, who only learned of his arrival from the always accommodating Stumpet.

Regardless of who did or did not visit, Drizzt was still utterly alone. Catti-brie would never be by his side again, an absence that left a hollow in his grieving soul and made his entire body ache. He wrapped himself in those final, horrible images of her murder and recalled the moments share with his wife and all that would never happen. They would never run to the ends of the earth in pursuit of adventure. There would be no beautiful children with their father's flowing, white hair and their mother's gleeful, blue eyes. Drizzt would never watch his wife grow old and die peacefully; a fact once dreaded, but now wished had been so.

Three days after their last battle, Drizzt Do'Urden stood in another shallow part of the forest, the four surviving Companions of the Hall beside him in body yet all lost in spirit. He pulled his traveling cloak tight around him, but the fabric could only shield the outside wind and not the creeping chill that consumed his small form. He never took his eyes off his wife, savoring his final moments with the woman who was everything to him: his best friend, his first lover, the one person who spoke the loudest words of encouragement, the one person who made him feel he was truly good.

Stumpet Rakingclaw said her final prayers, and then lifted a small torch from the ground. After putting the staff of pitched tinder to flint and steel, the torch caught a flame and Stumpet lowered it onto Catti-brie's bed of leaves. Catti-brie always said she never wanted to be tied to one place, so the Companions decided she should be cremated and her ashes allowed to fly free. The bright light briefly stung the drow's sensitive eyes, but the fire at last summoned a few lingering tears as Drizzt Do'Urden watched as Catti-brie Do'Urden's body became one with the branches and then one with the earth.

When the flames finally burned themselves out, the Companions gathered her ashes, placed them in individual clay boxes, and scattered them to the strong winds over Kelvin's Cairn. Embraces and words of predictable kindness were all shared afterward, though they all parted ways in silence. As Regis and Bruenor turned and walked back towards the caves, Wulfgar and Drizzt exchanged a lingering, painful glance. The barbarian said nothing, yet his somber face spoke for him: he was not mourning his adopted sister but his former fiancé. Catti-brie's widower, the man who ultimately won her heart, understood his pain, yet couldn't quench a feeling of deep resentment. The big man turned and walked down the hill in the direction of his tribe, never to be heard from in the following days. Drizzt was now alone, his small feet buried in the snow as he stared out at the sky. The Companions of the Hall had scattered and nothing could ever be the same.

As a few more days came and went, Drizzt became more awake to the world though the pain never faded. He tried to salve his heart by spending more time in the wilderness, his old and once beloved home. The dark elf regularly took his Reverie in various parts of the wood, hoping his soul would finally emerge from its deep pit of grief, though the effort was futile. His dreams were always troubled, the bloody scenes of the last battle playing themselves endlessly in his mind. He would always wake screaming, Catti-brie's head flying from her body was always the last, lingering image. Drizzt considered leaving, taking to the road and hoping he could find some peace there, though these plans were also fleeting.

The drow was sitting on a boulder overlooking the woods one morning, contemplating his next actions, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He slowly turned around to see Bruenor holding Catti-brie's travel sack filled with various items.

"Well, we got the last of me girl's things from your cave, elf," the dwarf king said.

Drizzt nodded, considering his old friend's kindness in helping clean out the cavern he shared with his wife. He felt guilty for not doing the task himself, but the thought of going back made him ill.

"Cassius came by," Bruenor continued. "Council meetin's this afternoon and he wants t'know what happened with those bandits. I told him you ain't ready to give yer story, but the durned fool's bein' awful orc-headed. Maybe ye should just go down and see what they want."

Drizzt gave a pained sigh and flinched. He knew the council wanted a full report on the battle with the highwaymen for the sake of Ten-Towns' safety. Regis told him for the past several days how Cassius demanded to see Drizzt as soon as possible, despitethe drow'sdeep grief. Drizzt dreaded the thought of describing the worst day of his life to a bunch of prickly bureaucrats, especially if they knew about the bounty hunters he insisted not be pursued. He knew, however, that this chore couldn't be put off any longer.

"Fine," Drizzt said, rising and throwing up his hands.

"Rumblebelly's in the caves, so ye can go down with him," Bruenor said, nodding. "If ye gotta do this, ye won't be alone."

Alone, he thought, I am always alone.

Drizzt followed his dwarf friend back to the stifling caverns. Regis met him there and gave a slight nod in greeting, though neither said anything as they left for Bryn Shander together. Drizzt did take advantage of the silent, awkward journey by mentally rehearsing his speech to the council. If talk turned to the bounty hunters, he would be as brief, yet truthful as possible. The councilors didn't need to know about his friendship with Jarlaxle, nor the sudden kindness shown by his one-time foe Entreri. He would talk of their aid in battle, yet try to distance himself from both.

Gradually the thatched roofs and smoking chimneys of Bryn Shander came into view and Drizzt steeled himself for the likely stares and whispers of the townsfolk. News of Catti-brie's death was probably the most discussed topic of the moment and her widower would likely receive more attention than usual. Soon, they were past the gates and walking through the town's bustling streets. Drizzt's eyes were glued to the road, yet he could feel the expected stares as he walked by. The ranger looked up and met the gazes of the people, noticing looks of deep pity in some faces, while others bore the furrowed brows and frowns of accusation. Drizzt shook his head, expecting as much.

Drizzt never thought he would be glad to see the council house, but the opportunity to be away from the ever increasing whispers and stares, both good and bad, was appealing no matter what form it took. Regis entered first, followed by Drizzt, who immediately heard the usual loud bickering in the council chambers and kept the futile hope that his stint in front of the councilors would be minor compared to the other business. With a churning stomach and a heavy heart, Drizzt walked through the doors and was soon facing the spokesmen of Ten-Towns.

All ten men immediately stopped their discussion and regarded the two entering the chamber, all gazes falling on Drizzt.

"Pardon my lateness, gentlemen," Regis said, taking his seat as the spokesman for Lonelywood.

"Understood, Spokesman Regis," Cassius said, his eyes never leaving the dark elf. "We are honored by you're presence, Master Do'Urden. Please take a seat."

"I am fine standing, thank you," Drizzt said tersely.

"As you wish," the elderman continued. "Before we begin this meeting, would like to express my personal condolences for the loss of your wife. I think I speak for the council when I say that Catti-brie Battlehammer was a wonderful member of this community and she will be sadly missed."

The rest of the council nodded, though Drizzt observed many uncomfortable expressions.

"I appreciate your kind words," the ranger said carefully, though subtly rolling his eyes after Cassius omitted her married name. "Catti-brie Do'Urden is very greatly missed."

The councilors exchanged glances and Drizzt readied himself for a fight.

"I am greatly sorry to hold this meeting at such a time," Cassius continued, "but it is in the best interests of this community that we receive some information regarding this terrible tragedy from the only witness."

"I understand and am happy to offer any information you may request," Drizzt replied.

Cassius then asked him for an account of how the couple came across the bandits. Drizzt gave his description of seeing the fireball from his cave and investigating, only to be drawn into an ambush. The ranger focused on Elderman Cassius, yet he managed to glance at the rest of the councilors, whose faces were all grim. All except the notoriously prickly Kemp of Targos, who held back a smug smile.

"Master Rolf Harney and his boys told us that they saw two men leaving the scene shortly before they found you," Cassius said. "Master Harney said you told him these two men were bounty hunters."

"That is correct," Drizzt said, feeling the sweat bead down his back and steeling himself for whatever might be said next.

"All three of them apparently got good looks at these men through the brush. They all say one of them was a black-skinned man in a rather large hat and the other was swarthier with black hair and a very fancy dagger. These descriptions fit two rather notorious scoundrels…"

"Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle of Menzoberranzan," the spokesman from Targos interrupted. "The most infamous assassin of Calimshan and one of the most powerful drow in the Underdark. I do not doubt these two are familiar to you."

Drizzt felt his stomach drop. He looked at Regis, whose jaw dropped as his eyes widened in a look of fearful surprise.

"Yes, these two are painfully familiar," the ranger said, "though their identities are, for once, irrelevant. In fact both those scoundrels wasted half the gang before we even got there. When my wife was killed, they claimed their heads and ran for the rewards, hence why I told Master Harney they were merely bounty hunters."

"I'm sure you greatly appreciated the sudden appearance of these villains," Targos said, rising, "due to the fact you have been keeping correspondence with at least one of them."

Drizzt's face grew hot as he glared at Kemp, who reached into his vest and produced a familiar white scroll. The drow folded his arms around his stomach, his right fingertips gently tapping Icingdeath's hilt. Regis' lower lip started trembling, his eyes darting to Kemp, then Drizzt. Kemp opened the scroll and read every word written. Drizzt tried to stay calm, yet he felt the blood rush through his temples as he glared at the spokesman.

"Where did you get that?" Drizzt asked in a chilling tone.

"I found it lying on the floor of your cave," Cassius said. "There was always a possibility it might provide some information regarding the incident, and unfortunately we were right."

"That is my private property," Drizzt roared, drawing a surprised jump from Regis.

"That is evidence," Targos yelled back, pointing the scroll at him. "You knew this band was coming to the Dale, yet you never told anyone."

"By the time I received the letter it was too late!"

"A convenient excuse. I just enjoy the irony of this situation: the same moment two of the most notorious murderers in the land enter our community is the same moment a troupe of powerful highwaymen come upon our most celebrated hero and his dear wife, who just happens to die fighting alongside her great husband's evil pen-pals."

"Kemp you are out of line!" Regis shouted, jumping on the table and waving a finger at the councilor.

"I sincerely hope you are not throwing around accusations, spokesman," Drizzt said, his tone suddenly calmer. "Words made in haste are words hastily regretted."

"Is that a threat, dark elf?" Targos asked with a smirk.

"That's enough, councilor," Cassius said forcefully. "Master Do'Urden, we make no accusations, but when a rather well known protector of the Dale is found to keep the company of two of this land's most notorious criminals, it does raise some suspicions."

"Fine," Drizzt said calmly, his venom not waning, "To keep all of you satisfied, I will tell you about my 'evil pen-pals.' The letter was written by Jarlaxle. I will be the first to admit he is a devious scoundrel whose reputation is well-earned. Jarlaxle is also a refugee from Menzoberranzan who wishes to escape the machinations of our kin. He has been traveling the surface for the past five years as a hired sword, the most legitimate work he has been able to find. Master Entreri walks a similar path and our feud ended long ago. Though I am certain they acted out of profit and not goodwill, both men acted in the defense of Icewind Dale regardless. It surprises me to say this, but both men played heroes in this game and removed many villains from thee borders of Ten-Towns. We owe them at least some gratitude."

"Yes, gratitude from one drow to another," Kemp of Targos added. "Yet another sad story meant to win followers and minions. Will Jarlaxle of Menzoberranzan have as much fortune playing the hero as the famous Drizzt Do'Urden?"

"You still curse his name even after all he has done to protect the Dale," Regis spat.

"I side with the spokesman from Lonelywood," Agorwal of Termalaine, Drizzt's old friend and greatest advocate, said rising. "Over the past decade, the actions of Drizzt Do'Urden have spared Ten-Towns from destruction on more occasions than we need to count. If Drizzt Do'Urden says this Jarlaxle character has also forsaken the evil ways of the drow, I count his words truth."

A few more councilors nodded in agreement, but Drizzt eyed those who remained still, including Cassius.

"So be it," the elderman said gravely. "Until we find evidence otherwise, I consider this matter closed. The highwaymen are all dead, the two bounty hunters are long gone, and I will make no judgments based on rumor and not fact. We will continue to investigate and I strongly advise you to cooperate with this council when requested, Master Do'Urden."

Drizzt nodded, his icy eyes trained on Cassius as his blood boiled.

"Are we done?" the drow sneered.

"Yes, we are done," Cassius replied.

"For now at least," Targos added.

Drizzt turned on his heel and walked towards the door. As he put a hand on the brass knob, he stopped and turned back around.

"Hear me well," he said, eyeing every member of the council. "I will not suffer any fruitless allegations from fools. I swear by the gods I did nothing to harm my wife. Anyone who says otherwise will face me."

Drizzt noticed Regis' frozen gaze as he turned back around and walked out of the council chambers. His hands shook as he walked to the street and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. After a short while, he felt a small hand grab his arm and pull him closer to the council house wall away from the street.

"Writing friendly letters to a treacherous mercenary, defending that vile assassin, have you gone mad?" Regis whispered in a tone of panic.

"Did you not listen to a word I said?" Drizzt whispered back.

"This is beyond your usual recklessness, Drizzt," the halfling spat. "You nearly met your death by their hands, yet you now call them heroes?"

"Yes, master dark elf," a loud voice said. Drizzt and Regis looked up to see Kemp of Targos and a few other councilors facing them. "We were wondering the same thing ourselves."

"This matter is finished," Drizzt sneered, walking up to the spokesman.

"Not for long," the man replied.

Drizzt gave him one last sneer and turned around.

"So what gods do you swear by, drow?" Targos continued. "Vhaeraun, perhaps Lolth?"

Drizzt stopped where he stood, turning to face his accuser with a glare.

"You keep correspondence with a powerful drow mercenary. Do you take tea with matrons as well?"

The onlookers only observed a blur of motion as Drizzt appeared behind Targos, a scimitar blade pressed firm below the spokesman's Adam's apple and an ebony hand holding his arms against his back. Regis let out a yelp and the other councilors put hands on their respective swords. Kemp of Targos was taller and more muscular than Drizzt, yet he made no struggle, knowing his death would come quick if he dared.

"Is this what you want me to do, spokesman," Drizzt growled, "remove your head right in front of these people and prove my wickedness? Maybe I will oblige you for once."

The blade pressed harder,a small trickle of blood running from theshallow slice. Drizzt felt Targos' hands shaking as his breathing was staggered, knowing he finally humbled the villain.

"It's a pity," Targos said, his voice slightly cracking. "I actually started respecting you. I should have remembered that a drow hero is still a drow."

"_Quiensin ful biezz quangolth cree, a drow,_" Drizzt hissed, suddenly remembering an old drow proverb he never thought would leave his lips: "Doomed are those who believe they understand the designs of the drow."

Drizzt pulled the blade across. Targos gave a scream before realizing the slice had only left a long, superficial scrape in his flesh. His peace ended when a scimitar hilt drove into his lower back with a sickening crack and a searing explosion of pain. He still felt his legs, yet the shock buckled his knees as more swift blows snapped his collarbone, cracked his jaw, slammed into the top of his skull. The councilor crumpled to the ground, his blurring vision looking up to see the drow, hand wrapped around a bloody hilt and face locked into an icy, yet satisfied glare.

Drizzt kicked the groaning, semi-conscious Targos in the ribs before sheathing Twinkle and facing a small crowd of people including all ten remaining councilors. Regis was frozen, his eyes wide in terror. Cassius and Agorwal stood still, glaring at him in disgust. No one, however, made any moves.

"He will live, I made sure of that," Drizzt said, bowing low and walking away.

"Drizzt Do'Urden," Cassius called to the drow, who stopped and turned. "I will give you until sunrise to remove yourself from the Icewind Dale. As of that time you are hereby banished from these lands until this council decides you fit to return."

Drizzt nodded slowly, and then continued on his path. As he was further away from the scene of his crime,his shakingreached into the small sack around his neck and clasped the adamantine disk, saying a command word and feeling it vibrate as the summons was placed.


	6. Not Looking Back

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Chapter 6: Not Looking Back**

It was past midnight when Drizzt crept through the dwarven caverns like a floating shadow, leaving no sound and no trace. His light feet took him down the hall and back to the room that had been his prison for several days. It would be his prison no more; neither would the caverns, the gossiping townsfolk, the accusing councilors, the distant friends, nor Icewind Dale itself. Drizzt never would have chosen to leave his once beloved home in shame, but if it was meant to be this way it was not his place to argue. The drow entered the room and picked his leather travel sack out of the corner, hastily opening it and shoving in a few articles of clothing and other basic items scattered around the room that he knew he would need. He wanted to collect his things and be out of there as soon as possible, no interruptions, no long goodbyes.

Drizzt then looked to a small stool in the corner and saw a folded piece of parchment placed on it, his name written on the outside. He picked it up and started to shove it in his bag for later reading, but then he recognized Bruenor's scratchy handwriting and froze. Drizzt unfolded the parchment and sat on his bed, bracing himself for the expected, final condemnation. It read:

_Drizzt,_

_Sorry you are getting this instead of seeing me, but vacation from the throne kind of got cut short. Got a letter from Banak today. Some of Obould's little friends are slipping their leash and making themselves annoying. It's not a whole army, just a couple of troublemakers who need my axe. Speaking of troublemakers, Rumblebelly told me what happened at the council house. In fact the whole town's got their lips flapping about it. Kemp will live, he'll be laid up for a while, but he'll live. I say the fool deserved it, but you didn't have to plunk him so hard. Don't worry, elf, I'll talk to Cassius about lifting this banishment nonsense. In the meantime, come to Mithril Hall and pound some orcs with me; that should make your blades happy. That is unless you got better things to do. _

_Bruenor_

Drizzt stared at the letter with a sigh, and then shoved in the bag. He then rose and tied the sack, all his things were ready and all that was left for him was to walk out.

Before leaving, he paused and breathed deeply to calm himself and consider one more painful thought that entered his mind earlier that had to be dealt with now. Drizzt reached into his belt pouch and produced Guenwhyvar's figurine. He wanted to summon her now, but for some reason he could not bring himself to do it. She had been his oldest companion, his most understanding, non-judgmental friend. She was also the one good thing he could control and instruct to carry out acts of his own, unchecked rage. If Drizzt was killed by any powerful villain he would attack to satisfy his current bloodthirst or any "good" soldier wanting to claim a drow head as a prize, she would be a prized possession in the wrong hands. Then there was the one devious friend who always coveted her, the same one Drizzt summoned earlier. With a pained sigh, he placed the figurine on the stool and found a piece of parchment and a pen on the floor. With a shaking hand, he wrote:

_Dear friends,_

_It is in lamentation that I leave you now. I wish my departure was coming under more peaceful circumstances, though I do not control fate. I now return to the road, where it takes me is also beyond my control. I leave all of you my love. Although we have all been distant in these horrible days, I still count all of you the best companions I have ever had. I also leave Guenwhyvar in your hands. She has proved a faithful friend to you all, though I fear she would be better cared for in other hands for the time being. My world has been plunged so far into blackness that I have lost all sense of myself, let alone those around me, so I leave her to you. May she serve you well. I swear to you now that these mournful days will end and we will all meet again in happiness in this world or the next. Until that day, I will find the happiness that has been destroyed in my soul and may you all find the same._

_Sincerely,_

_Drizzt Do'Urden_

Drizzt then gave one last, painful look at Guenwhyvar before turning around abruptly and running from his room, down the corridors, and finally out into the cold night.

He ran for several minutes, not looking back and wanting to be as far from intruding eyes as possible. At last he reached a painfully familiar side of Kelvin's Cairn and stopped, looking up through the low clouds to see the entrance to the cave he and Catti-brie shared. Drizzt had avoided this trip since the day she died, but now it had to be done. He could not allow himself to be banished from Icewind Dale without one last visit to finally close the door on some of the worst moments of his existence.

Drizzt paused, gazing up at the moon and savoring the fresh breeze against his face. He wanted to stay there for hours, but there were other matters that needed completion. He then sprinted up the rocks and finally reached the cave. Drizzt paused and stared at the brown canvas door, trying to push himself towards it, yet his legs refused to move. The cold wind enhanced the growing chill in his body as he recalled the last time he was here. It was a beautiful morning, he thought, the sun had just risen. Catti-brie was alive. He remembered walking in that morning, inhaling the aroma of her warm flesh before he lay down next to her. Then she woke, her beautiful, blue eyes shining as she looked at him, kissed him, and made love to him. Then there was a flash outside…

Drizzt closed his eyes and shivered as one stubborn tear found its way down his ebony cheek. He could still hear her laughter over the winds and smell her warm flesh as if it were coming from the cave, but that smell turned to burned branches and burnt offerings to the winds that laughed at him. He gave a painful sigh that sounded like a sob, but his tears were all dry. At last, Drizzt walked to the opening, pulled the canvas back, and walked into the cave he shared with his wife. The blankets had been stripped from their cot, there were no clothes from the line, Jarlaxle's letter was now in Cassius' possession, and Catti-brie's ashes were scattered in the wind. Drizzt closed his eyes and took some measure of comfort in the cold emptiness of this vacant space. This space was now a blank canvas, much like the rest of his life.

He sat down on the cot and remembered the events of the passing day. He remembered all the stares from the people of Bryn Shander. He remembered Kemp of Targos accusing him of killing his wife while laughing at his heritage. Kemp wasn't laughing when the blade sliced into his skin, nor did he give any snide comments when the drow slammed the pommel of his scimitar into the bastard's bones. He was rather humbled actually. Drizzt then opened his eyes at the realization that he was smiling on this thought. He gave a groan and covered his face with his hands.

"What is happening to me?" he said softly.

This was the first clear, calm moment he had all day. After his assault on Kemp of Targos and his resulting banishment from Icewind Dale, Drizzt ran from Bryn Shander as fast as his legs could carry him. He finally stopped in a small patch of wood, where he found a small stream and washed Kemp's blood off Twinkle's pommel and calm his nerves, though the effort was futile. The next few hours were filled with fits of screaming, several hacked trees, and the bloody deaths of a few passing small creatures at the ends of two scimitars. The came an exhausted calm, though Drizzt's mind was blank. As the sun set low, he managed to slip into an uneasy Reverie. His dreams were even bloodier than in previous rests, though he woke in a calmer state that allowed him to walk to the dwarven caverns and prepare for his last departure.

It was only in this moment, as he sat on the cot in his cold, empty cave, that he was finally able to fully digest his horrible situation.

"Eight days ago I was a happy man," he said to himself, going into one of his speeches to himself that allowed him to work out his most troubling problems. "Catti-brie was alive. I finally had the woman I loved by my side. I had a group of the best friends anyone could have. For the first time in my existence, I actually enjoyed my life. I thought I had my peace. Now my wife is dead. Cut down before my eyes. What else is there? The town I have risked my life defending now sees me a villain, while my best friends keep to their own holes of grief and wounded pride. Interesting how Catti-brie's passing ended it all so quickly. Interesting, or tragic; no I prefer interesting. Is this among the long list of the greatest tragedies in my life, or was this just the fall of happy façade that finally rotted off and revealed the truth?"

He paused and placed his chin in his hands.

"No, I am just being pessimistic," he continued, shaking his head and trying to calm his trembling hands. "I am just taken over my own negativity. I shouldn't speak ill of my companions. I was not the only one cut apart when Catti-brie died. I am just the only one who needs to know I was the only one not cut apart. I need to know I am sad as well and bury myself in the arms of my closest friends. Yet their arms embrace themselves, now and I am just standing in the cold."

He let out a choking sob and buried his head in his hands, yet no more tears came.

"No, I did feel warmth while clutching my wife's dead body. The only two people who showed me any actual sympathy, any remote tenderness were two of the most dangerous creatures I have ever known. Bruenor writes me a passing note while Artemis Entreri gave me a pat on the shoulder? Dear gods, fate does have a sense of humor."

Drizzt chuckled at this amusing realization, a laugh that turned into a series of maddening cackles as he fell back against the bed.

"No, I shouldn't be so amused. Those two are the vilest of evil doers," Drizzt continued in a sarcastic tone. "Their actions had to be false, the work of skilled actors trying to drag a good man into a realm of evil and death."

He paused, and then sat up.

"Evil and death," he said with another chuckle, "I am up to my neck in both already. What in the Nine Hells makes me so different from those two anyway? I am a hardened warrior like Entreri and a vicious drow like Jarlaxle, all of us calculating and unyielding. Only I am a 'hero,' a renowned defender of goodness. I could put my anger to a worthy cause and go on a murderous rampage to slay some evil creatures and protect the innocents who would have suffered otherwise. How I long for the good old days when I could just bury myself in my rage, slaughter some orcs, and just say I was lost in the Hunter. That, however, was a long time ago. There are now just a few of Obould's friends who slip the leash, no raging armies, and no causes to defend. All the causes are meaningless now. Besides, the Hunter is a little harder to find these days."

He closed his eyes and gave a slight gasp at all the potential implications of this statement.

"Almost as if he is not here at all. I guess I just have myself, the only person I have ever come to totally know and trust, though the latter is apparently a bit harder to do right now. I think that thought should scare me, but I am more terrified by the fact that it doesn't."

With a sad sigh, he opened his eyes, looked down, and saw a purple, plumed hat lying at his feet. It was obvious he wasn't alone.

"I thought your little trinket was broken for a second," Drizzt said, looking up to see Jarlaxle lying on the ceiling, hands behind his head. He wasn't there a second ago, so the shifty mercenary must have snuck in. Drizzt didn't know whether he should be annoyed by the sudden intrusion or annoyed with himself for allowing it to happen. "It took you long enough to get here."

Jarlaxle's legs lifted downward and he landed feet-first on the floor in front of Drizzt, who bent down and grabbed the hat.

"All apologies, _abbil_," he said with a wide smile, "but we were caught up in some business."

Jarlaxle reached for his hat, but Drizzt snatched it up and placed it on his own head in a sweeping motion. The mercenary looked at him and chuckled

"Do you always talk to yourself?" Jarlaxle asked. "You know Vierna started talking to herself before she went insane.

"And I talk to myself to keep from going insane," Drizzt said with a smile.

"We're all mad in our own little ways," Jarlaxle said, yanking his hat from Drizzt's head and picking off a few lingering white hairs.

"So you had some other business," Drizzt said rising. "Another ruffian in need of capture?"

"Perhaps, but I am sure it is nothing to you."

"Have you caught your quarry?"

"You are just full of questions, aren't you?"

"I just want to know who we are up against."

Jarlaxle paused and placed his hat on his bald head.

"'We?' You can't be saying you want to join us. Drizzt Do'Urden the celebrated hero wants to become Drizzt Do'Urden the filthy sellsword? I thought it would start snowing in the Nine Hells before that happened."

"Well I hope the tanar'ri have their mittens unpacked. If my sword is being sold, it is still being used, which is more than I can say for my current situation. Besides my banishment from these lands begins at sunrise, so I say we leave swiftly."

Drizzt turned around and swiftly walked through the cave and the canvas door, hearing another light swish of the door behind him.

"Banishment?" Jarlaxle said in a half surprised, half amused tone.

"Oh, it was nothing more than cracking the skull of a town spokesman with the pommel of a scimitar," Drizzt said continuing down the hill, "but he's still alive and it's a long story. Now I believe you have some sort of teleportation device."

"Patience is a virtue, drowling," Jarlaxle said, grabbing Drizzt's arm and turning him around with a force that almost tripped him.

"What makes you think I will allow you to join me?" the mercenary said in an icy tone, putting his face straight into Drizzt's. "You have cursed my work before, yet now you insist on being at my side. I could consider that a rather rude imposition that is more deserving of my wrath than my obligation."

Drizzt met Jarlaxle's gaze, his face making no expression other than a slightly raised eyebrow.

"However, I think you have reasonable skill with a blade," Jarlaxle continued, his tone lighter. "I also respect you greatly; perhaps I even like you a little."

"And of course you never wanted me in Bregan D'aerthe," Drizzt said. Jarlaxle gave a shrug in spite of himself.

"Let me just make a few things clear before you run away with us," the mercenary said, his icy tone returning. "This is not another adventure where you go off with your loyal friends and play hero of the world. This is dirty, bloody business with nothing goodly or heroic about it and you will be no different than the rest of us lowly cutthroats. This is not Bregan D'aerthe and I am not your captain, technically speaking, but I will be watching you constantly. The first time your moral compass costs me any profit is the last time you see certain parts of your body. Consider that before you jump into this pack of wolves and get torn apart."

Drizzt looked into Jarlaxle's uncovered red eye and smiled.

"If you expected anything different, I would be very disappointed," Drizzt said evenly.

Jarlaxle nodded with a wide grin as his free hand removed the wand from his vest.

"Welcome aboard," the mercenary said, clutching Drizzt's arm tighter.

Jarlaxle said a command word, tapping himself with the wand, and bringing both to the scene of their first adventure.


	7. The Fall of Drizzt Do'Urden

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Chapter 7: The Fall of Drizzt Do'Urden**

In one second, Drizzt's vision from the snowy crags of Kelvin's Cairn to the plain white walls and small, blanket covered beds of what appeared to be a room in a modest inn.

"Welcome to the City of Splendors," Jarlaxle said putting his wand back in his vest and walking towards a small table by the window.

"Neither of you got far, did you," Drizzt said, looking around the room, looking at the green, wool blankets on the two beds and the small cot set up on the side of the room. The floor was consisted of cheap clapboard that was loosely covered by a gaudy, blue and green rug embroidered with various patterns.

"Well, we have been taking a little respite lately," the mercenary said, pulling off his hat and pulling out a small bottle of a yellowish liquid followed by three, small glasses. "Our last mission was rather…taxing."

Drizzt bit his lip and nodded as he watched his kinsman pop the cork on the bottle and pour a small amount of the liquid in a glass while replacing his hat.

"It's just mead," Jarlaxle said, "care for some?"

"No thanks, maybe later."

"I usually have a sip before Reverie, but I'm just in the mood right now." The mercenary swirled the glass as he sniffed its sweet contents. "Speaking of which, have you had your trance yet?"

"Yes, just a few hours ago."

"Good, I need you well rested. Do you have a spare tunic in that bag, perhaps a vest?"

"Both, why?"

"Remove the tunic you have on now and change into the other," Jarlaxle replied, sipping the mead and looking out the window. "Make sure your mail shirt is underneath and concealed. Also remove your cloak and tie your hair back. I don't want you looking like you just came out of the woods."

Drizzt shrugged and placed his bag on one of the beds, gradually breaking out of his daze. He then did as he was asked, taking off his traveling cloak, his mail shirt, then his tunic. Bare to the waist, he took a moment to stretch his muscles and enjoy some movement free of the gear he had on for almost a day. Drizzt opened the bag, placed his tunic and mail shirt inside and took out the armored shirt he took from the body of a drow soldier he killed during the Thousand Orcs War. As he looked down, his gaze fell on the white pendant shaped like a unicorn head that rested against his chest, sticking out against his ebony skin: the symbol of Mielikki that Regis had carved for him out of knucklehead many years ago. Without a thought, he pulled the chain over his head and shoved the pendant into a small pouch on his belt before sliding on the white, deceivingly comfortable shirt. Drizzt then removed a black, wool vest from the bag, a garment he usually wore on off days, and put it on before pulling out a small strand of leather cord and tying back his long, white hair. He then looked at Jarlaxle, whose gaze never left the window.

When he was done changing, Drizzt walked up to the window and looked down to see they were in Waterdeep's Trades Ward. The street was bustling with the usual crowd of late-night revelers, but the ranger's gaze fell on a small man in a black cape and a bolero hat standing against the wall and scanning the crowd, a man he assumed was Entreri. When the man looked up at the window and nodded, his identity was obvious. Jarlaxle drained his glass, placed it on the table with a shrill chink, and sprang to his feet in one motion.

"Before we continue, I have a little gift for you," Jarlaxle said, reaching under the table for a black, unmarked wooden box he lifted and placed on the bed in front of Drizzt.

Drizzt eyed the box for a second, opened the lid, and lifted out a fine, black velvet cape.

"You shouldn't have," Drizzt said while examining and rich garment. After inspecting it for any hidden pouches or emanations of magic, he put it on, clasping the silver neck chain. The cape felt luxurious, yet light enough for movement. This was a welcome change from his green, wool traveling cloak that had seen too many battles.

"It has a shielding spell on it," the mercenary explained, returning his gaze to the window. "That should protect you from any bursts of flame or lightening, though I doubt it would work against a dragon's breath."

Jarlaxle then opened the window and signaled for Drizzt to follow. The mercenary then leapt out and landed perfectly on his feet two stories down. His dark elf companion jumped down beside him, landing on his feet in a crouch, but in a movement no less graceful. Entreri casually slipped from his post by the wall and walked deeper into the alley. He gave Jarlaxle a brief glance, but then stopped and glared at the other slender figure coming to a standing position next to him.

"Good evening, Artemis," Drizzt said, making an attempt at sounding casual.

"I hope this isn't a social call," Entreri said.

"This is our third sword," Jarlaxle said, moving to Drizzt's other side and putting an arm around his shoulder.

Entreri locked stares with the ranger, and then slowly nodded his head.

"Fine," the assassin said, "let's see if he's actually useful."

"That's the spirit!" Jarlaxle said triumphantly, swinging his other arm around Entreri and locking both his companions in a tight embrace. Entreri grabbed Jarlaxle's arm and threw it off his shoulder as he jerked back, glaring at both drow.

"Well, now that we're acquainted," Jarlaxle said, removing his arm from Drizzt's shoulder, "let's inform our new friend of tonight's business. Take it away, Master Artemis."

"We're looking for a half-elf named Samson Treal," Entreri said in an annoyed tone. "He was once a master thief, now he's decrepit alcoholic beating up children for their candy money. I knew him before by reputation, but word has spread that he's hit the very bottom. Last night he slit the throat of a passing trader on the road and has been seen around the city, though he's exceptionally good at hiding himself. I, however, am better at looking. He's still skulking through the Trades Ward now, so we pretty much have him."

"Good," Jarlaxle said, "I will allow you and Master Do'Urden apprehend this malefactor."

"You're not coming?" Entreri asked, his annoyed tone taking on more venom.

"Our new companion needs to learn how we do things. Besides, I want you two to have some quality time together."

Without another word, Jarlaxle tipped his hat and levitated up to the window, jumping backwards onto the windowsill, and vanishing inside the building. Drizzt and Entreri look one last look at their companion, and then locked stares again.

"Mind me well, Do'Urden," Entreri said coldly. "I may have no desire to kill you now and I am willing to play along with this little alliance, but don't think that makes me like you any more. If you want to avoid bloodshed, I recommend that you don't cross me."

"If I wanted to cross you, Entreri," Drizzt said firmly, "you would die. No mercy, no second thoughts, just you as a corpse."

"In that event, you had better make damn sure I'm dead. I would hate to face Jarlaxle when he finds your body in pieces too small to heal again. Now let's get this over with."

"Lead the way."

Entreri shot him a last glare and turned around, walking away from the alley with his new, unlikely partner following close behind. Drizzt pulled the hood of his new cape over his head and followed Entreri through the crowd, keeping a safe distance behind so others would not assume they were passing revelers and not men on a mission. Entreri then turned around and made a subtle motion towards the left.

_The man beside the second lamppost_, the assassin signed in drow hand code, keeping his hand low. _Small, scrawny one in a brown, ragged tunic with long, unkempt white hair. _

Drizzt looked through the crowd and saw the man of that description: a sickly looking vagabond sitting on the curb by a lamppost whispering to the empty air. The drow nodded his head and Entreri motioned his companion to follow. They passed through the crowd and drew closer to the man, Entreri on one side, Drizzt on the other. They were a few feet away when the thief suddenly looked up to see Entreri walking in his direction. His gold-flecked blue eyes shot wide as he jumped to his feet and bolted.

"Dammit," Entreri spat under his breath as he broke into a swift walk and continued after his quarry, Drizzt following close behind.

The chase continued past the usual, late night crowds and into more sparsely populated streets as the three moved out of the Trades Ward. Samson had the speed of an elf, but the stamina of a sick man as he stumbled several times and appeared to lose energy. Drizzt and Entreri's respective paces turned into a slow run as they gained on the half-elf. Samson suddenly found a burst of energy and shot out into the street with his pursuers a good distance behind for a second before they came closer, yet not close enough.

The air soon took on the odor of dead fish as the old man ran on streets strewn with garbage, blood, and so many more downtrodden souls sleeping against tattered shacks. This was the Dock Ward, the dirtiest and most dangerous section of Waterdeep. By this time, Drizzt and Entreri broke into a steady run, not caring if anyone saw and focusing on ending the chase. Samson then changed his direction and ran into a rickety, two story house where several other unfortunates were strewn about.

The two bounty hunters slowed their pace and walked into the building to see a room full of people in rags sitting at small tables and eating hot bowls of stew. At the front of the room were a group of tidier individuals in red robes pouring stew and talking to unfortunates. As they walked in without notice, Drizzt saw the robed figures wearing wooden pendants in the shape of a pair of hands bound in cord, the symbol of Ilmater, the god of healing and suffering.

"So now you're infiltrating an alms house, goodly elf?" Entreri whispered in his partner's pointed ear with a grin. "You can turn around now and end this blasphemy, but don't forget to leave an offering to the Crying God on your way out."

Drizzt shot him a glare and continued through the crowd after the thief. Entreri paused for a low chuckle of final validation before following him. The two scanned the hall and noticed the small figure moving through the crowd. Drizzt motioned his head to the right and slowly made his way through the throng of people, looking back to see Entreri close behind.

Samson walked through a small side hallway to a blank, brick wall at the end. He then traced a symbol over a protruding, black brick with a bony finger. The wall became translucent for a second, allowing the old man to walk through the wall down a small, stone corridor, unaware of the two quiet creatures that snuck in behind him. After descending a long set of narrow, stone stairs, doing all he could to keep from tripping, Samson continued his run down the hallway and around a corner while Drizzt and Entreri were a few feet away, stepping down lightly and not making a sound as they entered the tunnel behind the half-elf. Entreri looked up and watched the wall they just walked through wave with a watery light before becoming opaque again. Drizzt quickened his pace and was soon right behind Samson. He reached towards the thief, his ebony hand just an inch away from his battered brown cape. Samson then got a sudden burst of speed and shot off.

"_Vith_," the drow spat, pausing and listening down the cavernous hall. He then looked at the wall and ran his finger along a patch of moss as he heard the clumsy half-elf fall and resumed pursuit.

_We are gaining on him_, Drizzt signed.

_You better be damn sure_, Entreri signed back. _You could be leading us_ _into the Underdark for all I know._

_Then it's a good thing you have me along_. The dark elf smiled wickedly and sprinted down the corridor, letting his vision turn to the infrared spectrum.

Entreri gave a pained expression before rolling his eyes, drawing his weapons, and following. Drizzt's scimitars appeared in his hands as he slowly continued, listening as the old human's pace became slower, his wheezing breath announcing his presence more to the drow, who was now in his natural environment. Drizzt refused to admit to himself that he was enjoying this little game of black cat and wheezing mouse, but he was rewarded with the high heat pattern of the thief standing still and looking ready to pass out. Drizzt waited for a second, stepped forward, and then sprang.

Then the dark elf's Underdark senses were disabled by a bright flash to the side, sending him spilling to the ground with a groan. Entreri flinched as a series of torches suddenly broke through the darkness, revealing a large room adorned with fancily woven red rugs and banners adorned with the symbol of Ilmater. The assassin reached down and lifted the light drow to his feet as he gradually regained his senses enough to see a group of red clad figures surrounding them. While most wore the same flowing robes as the laypeople upstairs, five were clad in long, red tunics and loose, white trousers. The five, all male humans, lined the inner part of the circle. Their hair was either short or pulled back, faces grim, muscles taut, and all of them had finely carved quarterstaffs in their ready hands as they glared at the intruders.

The eight on the outside of the circle were most likely commoners, though they probably had swords or knives under their robes. The two bounty hunters paid more attention to the five monks surrounding them, sizing them up and predicting their next moves. They were all young, Drizzt noted, probably barely into adulthood. His warrior's senses saw the determination plastered on their young faces, while they held their quarterstaffs too tensely to be ready for battle. The drow gave a slight smile: if young ones like these held this battle stance at Melee-Magthere, they would die within a day. Drizzt then shot a glance at Entreri, who looked similarly unimpressed, though no less prepared for what might happen.

"Welcome, honored guests, to the chapel of our Crying God," a booming voice said from the front of the tight circle.

The monks bowed in veneration. Two commoners stood aside to allow a man in similar monk's robes enter the circle. The man was tall, towering over the smaller bounty hunters by several inches accented by a taut, almost bulky muscle tone. He had thin, salt and pepper hair pulled tightly back into a thin ponytail that resembled the thin strips of his moustache. His red tunic was embroidered with silver filigree and his holy symbol was made of finely polished silver.

"I am Minan Rannegart, priest and humble servant of Ilmater," the monk said in a stuffy tone. "These are private chambers, gentlemen. If you wish to seek the council of our order, we will escort you upstairs to speak with our able chaplains."

Samson Treal then came through the group and stood behind the priest, using the large man to shield him from his pursuers.

"Though, as my old friend Samson tells me, I doubt Artemis Entreri seeks the aid of any goodly gods. Neither does…Jarlaxle is it?"

Entreri glared at the priest, though Drizzt sheathed his blades and threw back his hood, walking before the cleric, whose face wrinkled in disgust at the now-exposed dark elf in front of him.

"No, Jarlaxle is my cousin. He's in Cormanthor tending to our ill grandmother, a venerable priestess of Eilistraee."

"Oh," Rannegart said profoundly. "Is he going to make sure she dies?"

Drizzt paused and glared at him, fully gauging who he was dealing with.

"Not to my knowledge."

"Understood, Master…"

"DeVir," Drizzt said bowing, "Alton DeVir."

"Master DeVir, I see. I thought you were going to say your name was Do'Urden."

Drizzt paused again, looked to the floor, and drew Icingdeath, provoking a mass of gasps from the chaplains and a sudden battle-stance from the monks. Rannegart just stood still and expressionless, giving no signs that he recognized the blade and the one who wielded it.

"I get that a lot," the drow said, giving the cleric an irritated glare, "too much." He shot threatening sneers to every nervous soul in the circle before pausing, picking at a loose thread on his trousers, and carefully scraping it off with the tip of the blade before sheathing it and returning his attention to the group. Entreri bit his lip hard to keep from laughing.

"Well, whatever your name is," Rannegart continued. "That makes you no less a dark elf and your partner no less a hateful murderer."

Drizzt smiled, though he couldn't help the blood from rushing through his temples. Now it was a "goodly" priest who was denouncing him for his race. At one point this wouldn't bother him. That was until he had the worst tenday of his life.

"And you are a man in fancy clothing who calls yourself akin to a god," Entreri added. "I have found priests of drow gods more worthy of respect than priests of suffering gods." Unlike his partner, Drizzt wasn't the one to hold back his laugh.

"Master Rannegart," Drizzt said, "we do come here on a mission of goodness. There is a murderer in your midst, and it is certainly not one of us."

"Samson Treal is no godless killer, unlike yourself and your vile companion. He is a man who has lost his way, but is now my ward as he finds his way back to goodness. A good man would defend himself from the ruffian on the road who tried to cut his throat in sport, as I have heard from my chaplains. I know you have probably killed many helpless creatures in sport. How many humans have fallen under those blades, Master DeVir? How about elven children?"

Drizzt held back the wave of nausea that came over him as a sudden image of Ellifain assaulted his frenzied mind. Just one slice across the throat, and this braggart would be silenced.

"I believe that is for the authorities to decide whether or not Master Treal acted in self defense," Drizzt said through gritted teeth, his patience waning with every second. "Do you intend to keep him locked in here forever?"

"I will take him to the authorities myself," Rannegart said. "I would never see such a gentle soul in the hands of a drow"

Drizzt stepped back and took a few deep breaths as he pried his fingers off his scimitars. All he could see or taste was blood, yet he held himself back again.

"Minan, friend," Entreri said, stepping up to the cleric, now seething at being referred to by his familiar name. "We represent the authorities."

Barely a second later, the tip of Charon's Claw was lightly pressed against Rannegart's throat. The chaplains reached for their concealed blades, while the monks sprang forward. Rannegart held up a hand to calm his soldiers, keeping his same, unamused expression despite the emanations of evil wafting from the blade.

"One lingering slice, father," Entreri hissed, "and you die with the perfect amount of suffering to please your idol. Now we are going to give you the opportunity to end this one of two ways: the quiet way, or the way we would prefer."

"You know the answer to that question, foul assassin," Rannegart said. "Go ahead and kill me, but know that you are outnumbered by servants of Ilmater, who will all break your evil bones and turn a drow skull into the perfect trophy on our altar."

Drizzt's mind went blank. All thoughts of reason, morality, or self control drowned in the final wave of blinding rage that had been slowly building since the moment Catti-brie died and could be held back no more. In a series of unconscious movements, his scimitars were in his hands, his arms shot back, and a monk and a chaplain fell dead. A third monk sprang forward, raised his staff, and met the slice of two scimitars cutting his body in half. Everything happened so fast, Entreri wasn't fully aware of what happened until Rannegart's face blanched and a pool of blood formed at his feet. The assassin looked down at the gathering pool, then over at the broken bodies, and then at Drizzt, whose face was calm, blades dripping with blood. Entreri raised an eyebrow, and then looked back at the cleric, who stood frozen by the sight. The surviving monks and chaplains stood firm, glaring at Drizzt, who waited for one more idiot to make a move.

"Congratulations, priest," Entreri said, "three of your men died in a matter of seconds. Give us another few minutes and this room will be a vampire's bathhouse. Is it worth it for one man?"

Rannegart responded by kicking out with both legs, his feet landing hard into Entreri's chest. The assassin's sword was disengaged, but he buckled his knees to brace the blow and jumped to a crouch, swinging his blade towards the priest's knees. The priest predictably jumped up, but didn't see the small man spin behind him on one foot and take out both hamstrings in one slice. Rannegart fell to his knees with a howl. Entreri rose and slammed the pommel of Charon's Claw between Rannegart's shoulder blades, sending him face-first on the ground.

Samson sprinted away from the circle like a bolt of lightening. Drizzt sprinted after him, though a monk was soon in his face. The drow actually had to parry a few blows from the quarterstaff before sticking Twinkle through his throat. As the monk fell down in a spray of choking blood, a red robed chaplain raised a dagger and lost his weapon hand in one swipe and his head in the next. Two more came into view and were stuck through the heart in a double-thrust, though Drizzt stopped keeping track of who attacked him and who was just there. He just felt the motion of his arms and the sprays of blood as another chaplain fell, then another. The two remaining chaplains fell to their knees before the drow and pleaded for their lives. Drizzt paused, heard their prayers, and decapitated both in one sweep before he chased after the half-elf. A quarterstaff landed on his left hand, sending Icingdeath flying across the floor and Twinkle through the top of the monk's skull.

As the drow dislodged the blade, the last monk, a boy barely out of childhood, froze before him in terror. Drizzt looked him straight in his pleading, brown eyes, grabbed his hair, kissed him on the forehead, and watched his young eyes frozen open as the scimitar went across his neck and the rest of his small body crumpled to the floor; the head still in the dark elf's hand.

"Behind you!" Entreri screamed.

Drizzt dropped the head, looked back, and fell to his knees as a wave of flames cascaded in his direction. Before he could lament not having Icingdeath to protect him from the conflagration, he felt only a sweeping warmth as Jarlaxle's gift proved reliable. He then smelled stench of burning hair and felt the sear against the backs of his neck and his long, pointed ears. After the firestorm, Drizzt slapped out the last burning embers in his hair and discovered his thick, white mane wad been burned off, leaving the white stubble that formed his hairline. He looked back to see Rannegart coming to his self-healed legs, his fingertips still smoking with the sudden spell, and Entreri sprawled out on the ground, the right side of his face a mass of bruises and blood. Ignoring the throbbing burn in his skin, Drizzt growled and continued running in the direction where Samson ran last.

After a short run, the drow saw a small, open door at the end of the hall and saw Samson cowering on the floor behind a large cask marked "wine." Drizzt reached down to the pleading half-elf, grabbed him by the neck, and lifted him up.

"Do you know what I have gone through to catch your miserable hide," the drow sneered in the whimpering man's face. Drizzt then looked down to the cask, and smiled. "No, I am being too harsh. Let's crack these open and have a little drink."

Samson's eyes went wide as he nodded ecstatically. Drizzt hacked at the cover with Twinkle until the barrel was open, the red contents inside exposed. He then dunked the small man head first into the barrel and held him down with a growl. The old half-elf's wizened limbs flailed, but Drizzt held him steady, watching bubbles from his frantic breath float to the top.

The drow looked up to see Rannegart back on his stomach, Entreri digging his knee in the cleric's back and lifting his bleeding head up to watch his ward being drowned while whispering curses in his ear. As Samson's limbs flailed less, Entreri plunged his jeweled dagger into Minan Rannegart's back, savoring the flow of his life essence as the goodly priest went cold, then passed to his god. Samson Treal's body stopped moving. Drizzt lifted the rest of his scrawny form and threw it into the wine with a splash.

Entreri came to his feet and walked towards the closet. The bruises on the assassin's face now vanished and all that remained of them was caked blood. He bent down and picked Icingdeath from the floor, swinging it around a few times and nodding in approval at the comfortable feel of the weapon. He stood in the doorway, looked at Samson's drowned corpse in the barrel, then at Drizzt, whose hands clasped lip of the barrel, holding him up and keeping his shaking legs from failing.

"Nice work," the assassin said, tossing the scimitar to its owner, who caught it by the hilt and sheathed it.

Drizzt leaned his back against the cold stone, his expression vacant as he looked at the body in the cask, then at the pile of bodies down the hall. None of those people were a real threat, he thought. All of them were the dedicated servants of a goodly god helpless against the walking death that entered their sacred chapel. And he slew all of them. Drizzt Do'Urden, the drow who had forsaken his evil kin and dedicated his life to fight injustice, had slaughtered innocents in a temple of a god of healing like any drow raider. His victims were all helpless against his blades that tore through their bodies. He slaughtered all of them in cold blood… and had reveled in every second.

The realization of that assaulted him, his conscience screaming condemnation. Then the voice went silent, replaced by a sudden state of clarity. He slid down against the wall in a sitting position, laid his head back against the cold stone, closed his eyes, and started laughing.

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"Unbelievable," Jarlaxle laughed, leaning back in his chair and looking at Entreri, whose elbows rested on the small, corner table at the tavern of their inn as he sipped his small mug of ale with a vacant expression.

Jarlaxle looked to the floor and snickered. He had seen the whole incident through a scry charm he had attached to one of Entreri's vest buttons during their little group hug, but his partner didn't need to know that. Besides, the mercenary enjoyed hearing the tale retold by his partner, who seemed amazingly stunned by the whole incident. Jarlaxle himself seemed quite amused by the whole thing.

"Yes, completely unbelievable," Entreri said, placing the mug back on the table and rubbing the still sore side of his face.

"No, 'unbelievable' is the wrong word. I prefer 'inevitable,'" the mercenary said with a shrug.

"I was about to say the same thing," Entreri replied.

"I swear Drizzt spent all his life convincing himself he's a saint, just like one can spend their entire life trying to turn a dragon into a house pet," Jarlaxle continued. "It always ends in such an ugly manner. Of course you probably find Drizzt Do'Urden's fall from grace an event worthy of celebration, especially since you witnessed the whole thing. In fact I do recall you putting a dagger in his hand during out last meeting. Is Artemis Entreri proving an influence?"

"He needed no influence," the assassin said, staring into his mug. "I saw it in his eyes every time we fought. Like a raging beast being held back by a wall of morals."

"He's a drow, friend; a drow who cannot deny that fact any longer."

Entreri lifted his mug and took another sip while shaking his head. He did not want to talk about any of this. For some reason he hadn't defined yet, the whole event disturbed him. Entreri remembered helping Do'Urden to his feet. The drow was perfectly calm, almost cheery as they found an escape hatch through the ceiling of the closet and emerged through the floor of an abandoned grain bin before returning to the street. As Drizzt gulped down part of a healing potion he kept in his belt for emergencies, his manner was jovial, yet his muscles trembled and his voice was noticeably cracked. Entreri knew he had just witnessed a man's nervous breakdown.

Jarlaxle didn't press the matter further. While he was amused by the events of that night, he knew his young friend had completely fallen apart. The final result of this incident would play out soon, to the boon or bane of all.

"I have to say I love his hair now," Jarlaxle said, trying to keep talk light. "It needs to be neatened a little, but his hair looks good short."

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Drizzt sat at the small table, looking out the window at purple sky of coming dawn, sipping a small glass of mead, and running a hand through his now short hair. He had come straight to the room after returning to the inn, letting Entreri meet with Jarlaxle in the tavern below and report on the events of the night. Samson Treal's head was now in the hands of the Waterdeep authorities and all three had a modest bounty in their respective coffers. Instead of going downstairs and carousing, Drizzt instead opted for changing into a pair of loose, wool trousers and keeping his torso bare so he could sit and enjoy this moment of quiet comfort. It was the first moment of complete, blissful calm he had known in eight days. No, he thought with a laugh, make that seventy-five years.

He didn't want to think about what he had just walked away from, but, for some reason, the events of that night seemed only natural, as if a life's worth of personal expectations and stifling vows had finally lifted. The thought should have terrified him, but it didn't. Drizzt knew he should be on his knees praying to both Ilmater and Mielikki for forgiveness for his horrible crimes. He shouldn't even be in the company of two cruel mercenaries. He should be in Mithril Hall fighting orcs with Bruenor. He should be in Icewind Dale fighting tundra yetis with Catti-brie. But Catti-brie was dead, as was his old life, as was the last, struggling remains of his conscience. He, however, was still alive, sipping sweet liquor in absolute comfort while enjoying this quiet moment as the sun rose on the new stage of his existence.

For the first time ever, Drizzt Do'Urden felt truly free.


	8. Son of Chaos

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Chapter 8: Son of Chaos**

Arvin Sayersby lifted his fine, green cape with an expression of disgust as he walked along a particularly muddy section of Rauthauvyr's road. The torrential downpours that had soaked the border between Sembia and the Dalelands for three days had finally ceased, but the smell of moldy grass and the sinking wetness of mud against the merchant's expensive black boots made the preened man ill. Normally he would never make such a trip down an unkempt, dangerous road, but this road would lead him to greater power: his old ally, a corrupt elven wizard named Nieral Moondown, promised him a few powerful magic items to draw more wealth and coerce more favors from business partners. All he needed to do was travel to Scardale Town and personally provide the large payment to his trusted old friend.

Nieral was also kind enough to hire three bodyguards to protect him from the hungry creatures and bandits who would otherwise be a constant threat. Even better, two of the bodyguards were drow warriors from Cormanthor, whose presence would likely unnerve any attackers. Arvin would occasionally glance to the drow on his right, whose white cloak stuck out against his ebony features, especially his cleanly shaved head and red, jeweled eye patch. The drow on his left wore a black cloak that concealed two deadly-looking swords. His short, white hair and determined, lilac eyes, gave Arvin a feeling of protection, yet the young dark elf's presence was unnerving. He would occasionally look behind and see the raven-haired human following at a distance and keeping a constant flanking position. All three of these ruffians gave off an aura of control, so he knew he was safe.

Arvin was completely unaware that Nieral promised the three bodyguards a handsome reward for bringing his head to Scardale Town. Whatever they did with the rest of the body was their decision. Even worse, Jarlaxle, Drizzt, and Entreri, reaching into their last bounty of gems, each threw a black pearl into a pouch that would go to the one who struck the killing blow: a friendly competition to make this job more interesting. All three were now walking in silence, planning their strategy.

Drizzt and Jarlaxle may have been closer to their target, but Entreri figured such closeness made both more paranoid and plan their acts more carefully. He inched closer a minute at a time, readying his dagger for the perfect moment to spring. Then Jarlaxle drew one of his hidden daggers and raised it over the merchant's fat neck…only to slice into empty air as Drizzt grabbed the man's shoulder, spun him around, and stuck him through the back with dagger he had bought for a copper piece in a junk shop last week. The movement was lightening fast as the bent blade went through the layers of fat, stuck in his spinal cord, and twisted to kill him before he knew what was happening. The drow spun out of the way of his falling form and pulled his dagger out while drawing Icingdeath and cleanly slicing off Arvin's head. He stuck the scimitar through the head and displayed it to his comrades with a smug smile.

"You little bastard," Jarlaxle said in a tone of mock indignity as he dramatically placed his hands on his hips.

"And you all said this thing was a piece of scrap," Drizzt said waving the dagger. "Now I believe I am owed some gems; three fine pearls if I'm correct."

"When we get to Scardale," Jarlaxle replied, "that was the agreement."

"The second we get to Scardale," the fallen ranger said as he swung the head under his cape and into his backpack, wiping the blood off both blades with his cape before putting the dagger back into his belt. "I don't want you getting tempted."

Drizzt then drew Twinkle and proceeded to hack the corpse into many pieces.

"What, you don't trust me?" Jarlaxle asked innocently while watching his partner's handiwork and was met with glares from both.

After a minute of hacking, he sheathed his blades and took each severed limb and former organ and flung it into different parts of the wooded path, walking over to a few and covering some with leaves and dirt while leaving others completely open as his companions watched in amusement.

Ever since his first night with the group and the fiasco at the Chapel of Ilmater, killing had became Drizzt's new hobby; another release from the torment of his grief and inner conflict. After slaughtering five monks and eight chaplains three months earlier, inner conflict ceased to be a problem. The killings felt more like a weight had been removed from his shoulders, allowing him to fully express his true, violent nature without a crushing torrent of self-imposed guilt. It was also convenient that he had a steady supply of subjects; captured murderers, thieves, and other ruffians who probably showed the same mercy to their own victims. He felt no guilt about putting such miscreants at the end of a scimitar, dagger, rope, brand, or any other implement that struck his fancy at the time. As long as the act was kept quiet, the head was retained, and the body was properly disposed of, it was never a problem. He also had certain taboos against who he would damage and how much. While a petty confidence artist might be escorted to the authorities with a few bruises and the occasional broken rib, the limbs of foul-mouthed highwaymen made a tasty treat for various woodland creatures. Drizzt would never raise any hand against female prisoners unless it was in unavoidable self-defense and if it was even hinted that a bounty was a rapist or a wife killer, he would savor their screams.

Jarlaxle was never fond of such messy slayings, but he admired his new partner's creativity in the grisly art. He had never seen such ingenuity in any priestess or soldier in Menzoberranzan for Drizzt admittedly took pleasure in the act itself and never tried to mask it as a part of any higher cause. Both Jarlaxle and Entreri noted his growing efficiency in the practice of murder, giving him the potential to be a skilled assassin if he controlled his passions a little. Entreri was impressed by his unlikely partner's skills: Do'Urden definitely knew how to strike a fast killing blow with a combination of his natural speed and stealth. His methods, however, were too messy. He also took too much pleasure in the act, which made him too eager to strike and potentially compromise his blows.

Entreri had tolerated his presence in the group for the past three months, though Drizzt Do'Urden became a completely different individual after that first night, which still played out in the assassin's nightmares. He was more social and jovial now. He also was completely unstable, responding to certain situations with a laugh and a grin, others with swift blades, and many with both. Entreri did take some guilty pleasure in watching a once noble man break apart and gleefully take the role of a killer. He compared it to his occasional desire to attend a jousting match in the hope that some of the knights would crash from their horses. Entreri, however, never wanted to be directly on the field under the plummeting knight in spiked armor, which was his exact position to the unstable Do'Urden at the moment.

Drizzt finished disposing of his latest victim and returned to the group, his black traveler's clothes masking any rare drops of blood that found their way to his clothing, though his careful efficiency prevented that as well. Without a word, he continued down Rauthauvyr's Road, followed by Jarlaxle, who was still chuckling in amusement at the whole scene, and Entreri, who shrugged off the reoccurring feeling that he had finally gotten himself in over his head.

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"And how many have you killed, sweetums?" Gruna, the half-orc barmaid said to the black-haired human sitting at the furthest part of the bar.

Entreri had sat in his seat at the Birdkiller Tavern trying to mind his own business and not get dragged into the rather obnoxious conversation between the gray skinned barmaid and two badly scarred dwarf patrons. He glared at the tusked, warty woman between sips of what qualified as "wine" in these parts.

"If you ask me that question one more time," Entreri said firmly, "I will add your name to my long list and make everyone here think you were just taking a standing rest."

"Oh you're just the charmer, ain't ya," Gruna said, batting her scaly eyelashes and returning to the inebriated dwarves.

Entreri wasn't in Scardale Town too long when he fully realized how much he hated it. All he needed to do was scan the crowd at the finest inn in town (and that was still not saying much) and see the various awful creatures during their night of carousing. Three gnomes were in the middle of a slugfest while a small band of human schemers forgot their scheming and passed out from drink. Two, tattered looking dark elves made some kind of illegal transaction in the corner and seemed to melt into the wall shortly afterward.

Then there was the one drow coming down the stairs, short hair still somewhat mussed and ebony face gleaming with residual perspiration. The buxom, blonde tavern whore beside him still ran her delicate fingers through hair and whispered various pithy phrases in his ear, phrases he obviously ignored as his lips ran down her neck and his hand went to his purse. Entreri tried not to look too interested, but the assassin found the whole sight of Do'Urden trying to be somewhat romantic with a woman he just paid a few gold pieces for half an hour of entertainment rather amusing. He knew the whore wasn't worth ten pieces, and knowing Do'Urden, she probably received even less.

This was a typical routine that had gone on for the past three months ever since that one night in an inn at Baldur's Gate. Entreri watched Drizzt rescue fair damsel of the night, who was being roughed up by a patron like the noble hero he always was. Before the assassin could roll his eyes and note that not everything had changed, he was taken aback by the sight of the normally chaste drow running a hand over her breasts and telling her how "special" he could make her feel. Entreri was no longer counting how many more whores the drow would pull aside, whisper some honeyed words, and go upstairs to ride like a disobedient horse.

This had become his new passion besides killing. After a day of hunting, capturing, and executing criminals, he would always cap off his evening with a beautiful human woman. It was a practice he probably picked up from Jarlaxle, whose whoring was legendary, though the assassin suspected a deeper motivation for Drizzt's lechery: he knew the only other woman he had before was Catti-brie, his true love who was now lost to him forever. Drizzt also completely avoided any women with red hair and he always tried to be somewhat romantic with every tavern wench he seduced.

Entreri kept half an eye on this sight as he waited for Jarlaxle to finalize his deal with Nieral Moondown at the Four Dolphins Fountain. Occasionally, Drizzt's latest wench would stop talking and start kissing him, running her fingers over his neck and over his pointed ears, playing with the tiny, silver hoops that adorned them. Entreri suddenly remembered the night he returned to his camp from a small hunting trip to see Jarlaxle piercing Drizzt's earlobes with a flower pin and putting in the small posts that were small enough so they didn't get in the way, yet large enough so they stuck out. Do'Urden added a few more rings over the past few months so now two adorned each earlobe while one was stuck through the side cartilage of his left ear. Ever since his white mane was seared off by Minan Rannegart's fire spell, Drizzt still kept his hair neatly trimmed to a slight spike that accented his features. He had also used some of his bounty to purchase a few nicer shirts and a less worn pair of high, black boots. His more polished appearance fully illustrated his major transformation from the ranger hero to the dangerous rogue he was now. The only recognizable features on Drizzt Do'Urden now were his scimitars and those piercing lavender eyes, which now had a perpetual look of ice.

Drizzt tried to pry away this beautiful, voluptuous maiden, whose hands were now running down his chest, over the open part of his black shirt and gently caressing his skin. As the fallen ranger savored this moment, he was becoming fully aware of the new, growing urgency between his legs that made him want to go upstairs and give her another go. When the whore's hand left his shirt and traveled directly to the rising bulge in his trousers, which she clasped firmly, he wanted to rip off his neck purse and ignore the glowing, vibrating disk that indicated Jarlaxle's summons. Business, however, took priority over pleasure. His hand clasped hers and moved it off his desperate flesh while slightly pulling away.

"I am really sorry, milady," he said, giving her one last kiss on the cheek, "but I have to go. You were wonderful."

He kissed between her breasts, half-exposed by her tight, flower print dress, before bowing and walking away, putting on his black felt hat (another present from Jarlaxle that resembled the hat of a gentleman farmer and had holding properties). Before he walked through the door he took one last look at the half-orc barmaid, who exposed her yellow tusks in a grin, an image that successfully destroyed his renewed urgency.

Drizzt stepped out the door and walked down the street, looking back to see Entreri following close behind.

"I have to compliment Jarlaxle on the excellent lessons in whoring he must have given you," the assassin said sarcastically.

"You should try it sometime," Drizzt replied with an annoyed laugh. "Give yourself the opportunity to use that concealed sword you probably pretend doesn't exist."

"I'll pass, thank you; I have more control over my urges. I know you didn't know the touch of a woman until you were seventy, but there is a time to think with the organ on the top portion of your body in such situations."

"After all your years with the drow, you still haven't realized that seventy is still a very young age. Seventy-year-old drow are at their prime, where as humans passing forty begin to have …physical problems; though I'm sure you know all about that."

"So if you are saying that seventy is very young, you actually admit that you're a child."

"Still bickering like a couple of old hens are we?" a familiar voice called from the side. They stopped and looked over to see Jarlaxle walking towards them. "First you were trying to kill each other, and then came the nightly fisticuffs, so I guess I can call this a marked improvement."

Jarlaxle's demeanor was jovial, yet his partners noted the strain his voice had taken ever since they entered the Dalelands. He still kept his hat tucked in his belt behind his cape, which now took a less conspicuous color. He was also wearing a fine, black tunic as opposed to his usual high-cut vest.

"I myself thought our little trinket was broken," he said, glaring at Drizzt. "I first tried to summon you five minutes ago."

"All apologies," Drizzt said in a semi-insincere tone, "I was on a diplomatic mission."

"When I summon you, drowling, you come," Jarlaxle replied, voice strained.

"Yes, my captain," Drizzt replied, an address that made his kinsman's angry glare soften.

Drizzt and Entreri both knew that Jarlaxle's sudden edginess had everything to do with their uncomfortably close proximity to Cormanthor and its notorious population of drow renegades. If Jarlaxle advertised himself too much, chances were good that most of the drow in the area would recognize him and likely strike, rendering the mercenaries hopelessly outnumbered. Given the circumstances, Jarlaxle, for once, decided to keep a low profile.

"I assume our business here is done," Entreri said.

"If we wish," Jarlaxle said with a creeping smile, his nervous gait becoming more confident, "though good Master Moondown has offered another opportunity with much handsomer rewards."

Drizzt and Entreri exchanged glances

"So who needs to die this time," Drizzt said.

"No, quite the opposite," Jarlaxle replied. "We are being sent on a rescue mission. The mage has a young protégé who likes to wander off to this little spot to meditate and memorize his spells. Just this morning, a few sentries from the order spotted what appeared to be two scouts from the Zhentarim, who normally leave the area alone. Master Moondown does not want his talented young wizard in the range of these sinister creatures, so he has hired us to go and deliver the young mage back to his order."

"So now we are going into Zhentil territory to rescue someone's favorite apprentice," Entreri said with a look of disgust.

"It is not yet Zhentil territory, hence why we are going to rescue this boy before the Zhents get too comfortable and know he is there."

"How much are we being offered?" Drizzt asked, though his face showed a slight hesitation at the idea of this mission.

"Fifteen emeralds each, but that is for bringing him back alive."

Drizzt whistled and Entreri's eyes widened.

"The elf must be generous, foolish, or not planning on us returning," Entreri said.

"Then I say we call his bluff and bring the damn kid back," Drizzt said with a smile.

"So that makes two," Jarlaxle said, "we're just waiting for you, Master Artemis."

"Fine," Entreri replied, his face betraying some lingering doubts.

"Good," Jarlaxle said, "I say we leave now. There is at least a day's travel ahead of us and I'm glad you're both rested."

"A day's travel," Entreri said, "and just where exactly are we going?"

"Our journey takes us up Rauthauvyr's road, further to the north."

"Further to the north is Cormanthor."

"Barely on the outskirts, assure you. The archmage provided a map."

"How accommodating," Drizzt mumbled under his breath while starting down the road.

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The moon shone through the last fading clouds as the three mercenaries arrived at their destination. After a full day of walking and managing to avoid any hazards, the three finally reached the marshy stretch of cleared wood, one of the shallowest sections of Cormanthor. All three walked carefully, though they still spoke in whispers and not in hand code.

"Remember," Jarlaxle said, keeping his voice low, "We are looking for an elf with blond hair wearing shabby gray robes. He answers to the name of Maz and can be jumpy if he is approached with too much force."

"You are sure he has dealt with drow before?" Drizzt asked.

"Moondown says he has the best training in our language of all the members of his order, remember?"

The three continued cautiously, walking through a patch of high grass and seeing a lithe form sitting on a small hill with his back facing the mercenaries. His gray hood was up, though all three saw locks of flowing, champagne hair strewn over his shoulders that glowed in the moonlight. Jarlaxle motioned for Entreri to approach, with Drizzt following behind according to what they planned before.

Entreri carefully ascended the hill making barely a sound, though the small wizard's head turned up from what appeared to be his spell book, indicating he knew someone was there.

"Are you Maz?" Entreri said in a soft, yet firm tone.

"Who inquires?" a soft voice replied.

"I am a sentry sent by Archmage Nieral Moondown to escort you back to the Order of the Seven Dragons."

"My mentor sends for me. I should feel honored. You are human, right?"

"Yes, and you will be in danger if you do not join us now."

"And your companions are dark elves. You cannot deny this fact, for it was foretold to me by the spirits."

"And are the spirits aware that we need to leave now or else some not so friendly souls will be here any time?" Entreri replied, his patience waning.

Maz came to his feet, picking up his spellbook and putting it in his robes. Entreri looked to the ground where he once sat and saw the corpse of an albino cat, cut open with its intestines spread out in the shape of some kind of symbol.

"Do you wish to bring along your spell components," Entreri said trying to suppress a look of disgust.

"No, the spirits accept their offering."

The assassin looked back and saw Drizzt slowly coming up the hill.

"And who is your friend, sentry?" Masrei asked politely.

"A mean dark elf," Drizzt said with a smile.

"What is your name?"

"Nalfein," he replied.

Maz paused.

"Nalfein is dead," he said plainly. "He was killed seventy-six years ago, stabbed in the back by his younger brother, allowing a son of chaos to live."

Drizzt felt his stomach drop. Maz pulled his hood back, allowing both mercenaries a clear view of the back of his flowing, blond hair, which parted around a black, pointed ear.

"I am sure you are quite familiar with the story, Secondboy of House Do'Urden."

Maz turned around, allowing a full view of his ebony face and large, beaming red eyes. Drizzt suddenly remembered the face from his time in Sorcere, Menzoberranzan's wizard academy: the young apprentice wizard with strange blond hair was a shy, almost dreamy student who Drizzt regularly encountered.

"Maz," Drizzt said, nodding his head, "short for Mazn'reysla. I remember you. And now you are on the surface, the student of a faerie elf?"

"I escaped, like you did. Nieral Moondown protected me and we are what I guess you could call, friends," Mazn'reysla said, turning to Entreri, who looked down the hill with a look of slowly building rage.

"Scouts from the Zhentarim have been seen in the area," Drizzt said, trying to shake off the bad feeling he got from this entire encounter. "Your master wishes you in safer territory, hence why we are here."

The drow wizard stared at Drizzt, and then smiled.

"Of course," he said, walking past the two mercenaries and climbing down the hill.

Drizzt and Entreri followed, saying nothing and both seething in various degrees over the new turn of events. Then they heard Mazn'reysla scream and run back in their direction, the wizard falling to Drizzt's feet and wrapping his arms around his legs as Jarlaxle walked forward with a puzzled expression. Drizzt managed to kick one leg free and use the other one to send the wizard on the ground. The wizard looked back at Jarlaxle and threw himself at Drizzt again, grabbing his shoulders and locking his pleading, red eyes with the lavender orbs of his rescuer.

"Don't let him take me back, Drizzt," Mazn'reysla begged, tears running down his cheeks. "He wants my head, I know he does. I've killed important people in Menzoberranzan, blasphemed the Spider Queen in too many ways. That is why Captain Jarlaxle is here, right? They'll turn me into a drider if I go back."

Drizzt grabbed the wizard's arms and threw him to the ground.

"No one is taking you back to Menzoberranzan," he said, looking both at the trembling, weeping drow at his feet then to Jarlaxle, whose visible eye rolled as he shook his head with a groan.

_What is his name?_ Jarlaxle signed.

_Mazn'reysla_.

"Mazn'reysla," Jarlaxle said out loud, kicking the wizard, "Secondboy of House Sshemlet, the twenty-seventh house?"

The wizard's sobbing became louder.

"A notable family of wizards, as I have heard," the mercenary continued. "As I recall your compound has a grand water clock in its foyer that grants various spells at different times of the day." He bent down and picked the trembling drow off the ground, turning him around and looking in his face. "That clock is now a focal point of Gromph Baenre's sitting room. He says it was the only real reward that came from obliterating such a useless house."

"Sshemlet fell?" Mazn'reysla asked weakly, gaining his composure.

Jarlaxle laughed and threw the wizard back on the ground.

"You're worth more to me on the surface," Jarlaxle said, kicking him again and turning around.

Mazn'reysla propped himself on his elbows and started let out a series of shrill cackles like the call of a jackal, laughs that slowly rose in volume and sent shivers through all three mercenaries. The wizard rose, brushed off his robes, and gave one last laugh as he walking off with the three following behind with hands towards their respective weapons. Drizzt managed to come directly beside the wizard, whose gaze stayed fixed ahead.

The journey was silent. Drizzt tried to look forward, but he noticed that Maz was continuously staring at him.

"You have known the taste of death, Drizzt Do'Urden," Mazn'reysla finally said. "I see it in your eyes."

"I am a warrior, you know that," Drizzt replied, keeping his gaze on the ground.

"Yes, a warrior; a master of swords, expert on killing, one who has tasted his own death."

Drizzt was slowly becoming ill with the turn of this conversation.

"I am alive now," he said, trying to sound disarmingly cheery.

"Your flesh walks beside me, but another spirit inhabits your body. Flesh can be altered, Drizzt Do'Urden: hair can be cut, green ranger's cloak fed to the fire, pretty lavender eyes can be gouged out, but the death of the spirit screams to the gods. I speak to the gods, they tell me their secrets. I know that you sadden the Lady of the Forest, the Queen of the Demonweb Pits reaches out to embrace you, and so many other deities want to call you their son, or their sacrifice."

"Would Vhaeraun be the former or the latter?" Drizzt spat. "You worship the Masked God, don't you? After all, that is why you would be turned into a drider. Are you trying to preach to me, maybe convert me to your cause? Save your breath, I listen to no oaths or lies."

"In the matters of the gods, oaths are only lies if you believe them untrue. You will soon have your moment of judgment, son of chaos, the moment where what is lie and what is truth will smash you across that pretty face of yours. I never told you about the ever watchful wild elves that inhabit these woods, did I?"

Mazn'reysla stopped and in a sudden, fiery flash, he was gone. Drizzt jumped aside in shock for a second as he and Entreri drew their weapons. The air was pierced by a shrill twang of bows and all three ducked in time to miss a few fired arrows that landed in the trees. Jarlaxle reached for his belt and produced his hat, taking out a black disc, throwing it on the ground to form a large hole that all three jumped into.

"Now I am going to kill him," Jarlaxle said, digging his necklace of fireballs out of his shirt, plucking out a large gem, throwing it at the direction of the arrows.

The explosion ripped through the trees and all three saw small, burning forms plummeting to their deaths. By their form they were elves, most likely the wild elves Maz referred to, or purposely used as a trap. Those were probably followers of Mielikki, Drizzt thought, the wizard's cryptic words ringing through his mind. He leaned against the hole and heard thunder of countless feet rushing in their direction; the feet of several armed soldiers waiting to eradicate the drow presence in their sacred wood. So Mielikki was saddened and he was in Lolth's favor? Most likely Ilmater wanted his death and Vhaeraun wanted his service. So now the gods were fighting over him, and here he was caught in the middle of what could likely prove to be his last battle.

Drizzt leapt up the side of the hole and landed on the ground facing the brown-skinned, hide-clad wild elves that charged after him, all the while hearing Entreri and Jarlaxle screaming at him.

"Which one of you bastards wants me first!" Drizzt screamed, first over to the wild elves and up to the gods, as he charged forward.

He plowed through the ranks in a complete frenzy, ignoring various stings and slices that came from superficial cuts and whizzing arrows that failed to reach their mark. One elf fell to his blades, then another. More elves came at him and more elves died. He occasionally looked back and saw Entreri charging forward and cutting down combatants while Jarlaxle, his magic longswords drawn, meeting the foes with both blades and missiles that flew from his bracers. Drizzt also noticed fireballs coming from the air and landing on the elves and saw Mazn'reysla levitating over the group, coming in an out of invisibility as he fought. So he had more of a purpose in this?

Drizzt soon reached the back of the field, cutting down wild elves, which seemed to pour out of the woods. Then the elves started to fall; small bolts appearing in their necks and putting them to the ground in seizures. Drizzt paused and saw a small horde of drow, all dressed in woodland clothes and all wearing masks of various designs, coming from the wood and taking down the gradually thinning ranks of wild elves with bolts and swords. The occasional drow would pass him and give a sneering grin before returning to the carnage. He looked back to his comrades and saw them also stopped, but still in battle stance. Entreri looked completely dumfounded by the sudden onslaught of dark elves, while Jarlaxle was visibly enraged and screaming various, undecipherable curses.

Drizzt's sudden confusion was broken by a swift movement in front of his face followed by a searing burn through his abdomen. He gave an almost animalistic howl as he kept his footing from the force that jerked him back. He looked over and saw Jarlaxle's look of rage suddenly melt into a look of horror as he watched the whole scene.

"_Nau_!" the mercenary screeched, running forward.

Drizzt looked down to see the white, finely carved elven arrow protruding from his stomach and the river of his life essence that poured out. He became light headed and felt another river of blood come up his throat and pour over his lips. His vision faded as his legs lost their strength and he fell backward into a large mud puddle, feeling the pull as the tip of the arrow met the wet ground first, followed by the rest of his body.

Drizzt lay for a second in the consuming chill, one phrase passing his bloody lips as he faded to blackness:

"Fate does have a sense of humor."

Author's Note: To be continued...


	9. Reverie

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Author's Note:** I see you shiver in anticip………pation

Sorry about the cliffhanger, everyone (actually, I'm not mwahaha). I would have updated sooner, but there were these little matters of a cold and a gaming convention that needed my attention, so here it is now.

Warning: This chapter contains a few spoilers

**Chapter 9: Reverie**

A shrill gasp escaped his lungs that sounded like the scream of a wraith. Drizzt's eyes shot open as the wave of agonizing pain cascaded through every inch of his body. After a second, the pain subsided somewhat, making him aware of the salty, putrid taste of blood in his mouth followed by constant, violent churn in his stomach. His senses awakened enough to register the screams of battle playing in the background, and the cold, wet earth that surrounded him, though the rest seemed a haze.

His vision was faded at first, and then focused to see a familiar, swarthy skinned human leaning over him. Drizzt looked down and saw that Entreri held an empty potion bottle in one hand while the other held a bloody elven arrow with its feathers stripped; both hands covered in blood and face bearing a look of both irritation and concern. A set of ebony hands grabbed his blood-soaked tunic and he was now facing Jarlaxle, who lifted him slightly and planted a large, wet kiss on his forehead.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," Jarlaxle said in a tone that resembled both anger and complete relief.

Drizzt managed enough strength to smile and prop himself up on his trembling elbows.

"I can't promise you anything," he said weakly.

His stomach jerked and he managed to roll to the side in time for the already churned bits of food and pooled blood to hail from his throat and land on the wet ground. The mess also contained a few, tiny bits of blue feathers, making it obvious that the arrow was pulled through his body. He spat out the last bloody bits and looked to his shoulder to see Entreri's hand holding him in this more comfortable position, for Drizzt's own muscles were too weak to complete the task.

Drizzt wiped his mouth with his sleeve and fell back, reclining in Entreri's arms as his head fell against the assassin's shoulder, his still cold flesh drinking in the body heat of his companion. His gaze now fell ahead to see a large group of dark elves standing back at a distance and watching them all. Jarlaxle came to his feet, his face locked into an icy glare as he faced the ten soldiers in leather armor and leather masks walking towards them. One drow walked to the front of the group wearing a green cloak over an outfit that looked more like scraps of leather sewn together. His white hair was tied in various braids strewn with green and red ribbons.

"Welcome to Cormanthor, honored warriors," he said, removing his green mask and revealing a lined, scarred face. "I am Xalryln and these are my soldiers, brothers and sisters of the Auzcovyn Clan. You all fought bravely in this vital battle against the enemies of the surface drow."

Jarlaxle glared at the leader, taking a breath and painting on his calm face as he held back his rage.

"You are quite welcome," the mercenary said bowing. "If it were not for a deceiver who led us into the gauntlet, we may not have been able to help. Though I am sure you had nothing to do with this."

Xalryln bowed in deference.

"It is in regret that I admit this deception was orchestrated by a member of our clan. Our brothers and sisters had been under siege by the wild elves, skilled warriors even more skilled in the tactics of covert, woodland warfare," the war leader said, nay, announced to all ears present as if he was making a speech. "Skilled foes that would ambush members of our party in small groups, keeping well concealed. We tried to stem off this tide, but strength of arms could only do so much, so we had to use strategy. Our ally, the moon elf wizard Nieral Moondown, suggested a way by which we could bring them out, an idea which was appealing in concept at the time. It was only now when we realized our former ally had used three legendary warriors, three kings of rogues, as bait. Renegade warriors such as Jarlaxle and Drizzt Do'Urden, and even Artemis Entreri, are sacred warriors, no, heroes. To use you as mere fodder was the highest insult. Though your cause was just, I am pleased to inform you this deceiver has been dealt with."

A drow beside Xalryn lifted the bloody, severed head of a familiar, black-haired moon elf. Jarlaxle's scowl deepened.

"Sacred renegade warriors;" The mercenary had heard enough about the rogue god Vhaeraun to known that this was his flock. Anything or anyone that flew in the face of Lolth and her minions (including rebellious Menzoberranzan mercenaries and secondboys, and anyone who had taken part in any activities that resulted in destroying a major chapel to the Spider Queen among many others) had the Masked God's favor. The deeds of the three bounty hunters were probably legendary.

"Nieral Moondown was your front?" Jarlaxle said calmly, keeping his growing rage at bay. "The Zhentarim were a convenient lure. And the missing apprentice?"

Xalryln stepped aside and allowed a drow with long, blond hair to move forward. Mazn'reysla had shed his gray robes and appeared in a long, black cape, a fine black shirt, and a black mask painted with red vines. Jarlaxle nodded.

"Your wizard," he said.

"And one of our most gifted clerics," Xalryln replied.

So the little bastard was friendly with the "spirits," the mercenary thought. Jarlaxle paused and chewed over the whole situation.

"So we were once bait, and now we are heroes in the eyes of your god," Jarlaxle said in a calm, businesslike manner that was soaked in venom. "I nearly lost my lieutenant, my protégé; I have become rather fond of this young warrior and I stood aside and watched as an arrow was extracted from his body. I usually turn a blind eye when soldiers are used as martyrs without their own knowledge, but I am making an exception this time."

"All three of you deserve to be treated as royalty and not lambs to the slaughter," the war leader continued in a surprisingly humble tone. "Accept the head of my foolish servant as recompense, as well as a stay in our village, where you will find food, drink, and rest with fellows who have heard your tales and will honor you as heroes."

Jarlaxle too a deep breath to calm his rage and pondered this offer. He looked back at his fellows, seeing Entreri glaring at the group and Drizzt shaking his head with a disgusted look, though his consciousness looked to be waning. His condition had barely improved since he awakened and he still leaned heavily against Entreri's shoulder, attempting to prop himself up, though still lacked the strength.

Drizzt was gravely injured, Jarlaxle thought. He could try to use his healing orb, but his friend required a cleric, any cleric. Besides, all their energy reserves were likely spent after this one battle. If they did walk away from this large band, the dangers of the road would likely overcome them all. That was if they did walk away.

"My injured soldier requires a healer," he said firmly. "I trust your gifted cleric can finally prove his worth."

"Most definitely," Xalryln said, his lined face forming into a large grin.

"If anything happens to him, the human, or me, I can assure you these lands will be overrun with Menzoberranzan soldiers, who will take great pleasure in vivisecting a colony of rowdy blasphemers. Is that understood?"

Xalryln bowed deeply.

Entreri was paying half attention to the rogue leader and half attention to his injured companion. Drizzt's body was slowly growing colder. Soon, his breaths were wheezing and his muscles tightened. His ebony skin was turning a shade of gray and his lids were becoming heavier.

"Stay awake, dammit, stay awake," Entreri hissed in his ear, though he should have known it was too late.

The arrow was removed and the strong potion only stabilized his wound long enough to keep him from dying, but Drizzt had already lost too much blood and his fragile, elven form could only take so much. Entreri clutched him tighter and shook him, though it could not reverse the shock that had already set in. Drizzt closed his eyes and his muscles relaxed. Entreri stared down at Drizzt felling a knot form in his stomach. This was a man he once despised. Why did he now hope that Drizzt Do'Urden would wake again?

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"The deep Reverie will be good for him," Mazn'reysla said, setting the bandage around Drizzt's torso and laying him down on the cot in the priest's own private room. "It will allow his body to rest, while his mind heals its own hurts."

Jarlaxle sat in a chair beside the cot, his head in his hands as he stared at his unconscious companion and occasionally looking up at Entreri, who stood in the doorway of the small tree house, gazing out at the building rain that blanketed the forest and the other tree top forts in the drow village.

"The spells should keep him for now," the cleric said, laying a green blanket on Drizzt and looking up at the two other silent mercenaries. "In the meantime I must attend a ceremony in honor of our victory. Vhaeraun will be pleased with the offerings he will receive this evening and keep closer watch over our sleeping prince."

Mazn'reysla rose and walked towards the door.

"Vhaeraun and I are on friendly terms," he said calmly, looking at both, yet placing a lingering glare on Entreri. "Please trust my abilities and trust your companion's strength. If he should leave this world, let him do it on his own terms and not because you believe it is time."

Entreri gave him an icy glare, feeling obviously accused.

"If you are truly fond of your companion," Mazn'reysla continued, "you will talk to him. He may be in the midst of deep Reverie, but he still needs company."

In a second, he faded into the air. Entreri glared at the spot and looked back at Jarlaxle, who came to his knees beside Drizzt and clasped his hand, expression vacant and eyes heavy.

Jarlaxle's demeanor hadn't changed since the first second he saw Drizzt lying unconscious in Entreri's arms. The soldiers escorted them all into the Auzcovyn village like a parade of heroes: Xalryln and his soldiers shouting war chants to the village of about thirty drow. Jarlaxle and Entreri walked beside them in a haze, the drow bowing before Jarlaxle, calling him "_Shebali Valuk_," or "Rogue King." Normally Jarlaxle would savor such a moment, walking like a proud peacock through the crowd of admirers, a beaming smile on his face. Now he wore a blank expression and occasionally nodded his still uncovered head when the mood struck him. His gaze was mostly kept on the two clerics carrying Drizzt on a blanket bearing him to Mazn'reysla's house.

Entreri tried to ignore the group, keeping on guard for possible attack and looking at his companions. Occasionally, Jarlaxle would sneak closer beside Drizzt and carefully place two fingers on the inside of his wrist to make sure he was still alive though his gray complexion and visibly undetectable breathing gave him the appearance of a corpse. Entreri feared what Jarlaxle would do should their injured companion die in the midst of this escapade.

Mazn'reysla repeatedly called his state "a deep Reverie," a too simple label that angered Entreri every time he heard it. The assassin just needed to feel his companion's slow pulse, listen for his shallow breath, and lift his eyelids to see his lavender irises now a thin line against his drastically dilated pupils to know the dark elf's condition was grave: Drizzt Do'Urden was in a coma, period. There was no pleasant way to describe his state and any attempts at doing so were an insult to a gravely injured warrior.

A warrior who should have been allowed to die in battle, Artemis Entreri thought for the hundredth time, not be saved to suffer in a state from which he may never emerge, let alone emerge with all his capacities.

It was a thought gnawed at Entreri as he looked back at the forest. He still had yet to come up with a rational explanation for why he saved Do'Urden in the first place. All he remembered was seeing Drizzt struck with the arrow and fall to the ground. It was instinct that took his legs toward his unlikely companion, slice the feathers of the shaft with his dagger, extract the arrow through his back, and pour a healing potion down his throat. Entreri didn't even realize what he doing until Drizzt opened his eyes and the reality set in; he had just saved the life of a man he was supposed to have killed once before. The one man he had once dedicated his life to battling was now being held in his arms as he yelled at him to stay awake. Artemis Entreri had saved Drizzt Do'Urden's life, and now Artemis actually wanted to see his efforts work, for whatever reason he had yet to understand.

He may have saved the drow's life, but could likely have condemned him to a slow death, or worse. The drow was already deep in a coma and Entreri, through his vast experience in the death of the humanoid form, knew that if he stayed in this state for more than a few days, he could suffer brain damage that nothing short of a miracle could fully cure. It was a fate Entreri would never wish on any skilled warrior he respected, leading him to the decision that Drizzt would likely prefer a quick death over a suffering existence. If the already untrustworthy cleric failed to live up to his legend, if his comatose ally lingered for too long, Entreri had no choice but to give him a painless end: a prospect that made his stomach turn.

Entreri looked back to Jarlaxle, perhaps for some kind of answers to all the troubling thoughts in his mind. Jarlaxle's face was down, tears streaming from his eyes. Artemis had never thought his partner capable of any emotions other than amusement or vexation, but Jarlaxle's eyes were tightly closed, face locked into a painful calm as the building tears streaked down his angled, ebony cheeks.

His partner kept quiet, but Entreri stared at him wondering what was going through his mind. Did he blame himself for this whole mission? Maybe he was just angered at the catastrophe that had fallen. Was he having a mental conversation with Drizzt's father in the afterlife, asking for aid or apologizing for failing to save his son? Maybe he was silently screaming at Drizzt to wake up and end this nonsense. Maybe he was doing all of this in the span of this horrible moment.

Entreri's gaze fell to Drizzt, whose face bore a look of complete peace. Maybe he had at last found the peace he lost when he watched his wife killed. Maybe Mazn'reysla was right and this was indeed a Reverie meant to calm his frenzied mind and allow him some clarity at last. It was all just speculation. Entreri looked out at the rain and barely noticed when one tiny drop fell from his eye, a tiny part of the gathering storm.

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"Are you pleased with yourself now?"

Drizzt stared ahead at the long, stone tunnel that he knew didn't actually exist. He knew this was all a dream, yet he cared not to challenge the blue glowing blade that was resting against his throat. He just stood, arms folded around his clean, black tunic as he felt the presence beside him.

"What do you want me to say?" Drizzt said through gritted teeth.

The presence stood in front of him, shaking a part of his thick, white mane over the shoulder of his green traveler's cloak, lavender eyes boring into him. Drizzt wasn't as surprised by this revelation as he expected to be, but the idea of facing himself, at least who he used to be, put a smile on his face.

"I want an answer to my question," the other ranger said calmly, face locked into a scowl. "Are you pleased with yourself now?"

"I do recall both of us are unconscious right now, so maybe I am pleased," Drizzt laughed. "We both needed a little rest."

The scimitar pressed further against his neck, though Drizzt didn't make any movements or reactions as he regarded his opponent. His other self was dressed in ranger's clothes, while his clothes were the same from when he fell unconscious.

"So it's acceptable for you to threaten me, but if I threaten others, I need to be punished," he said, looking at his companion. "That's right, you live on hypocrisy."

"If I live on hypocrisy," the ranger said, "than you certainly are part of that. You think you are truly free of your emotional shackles, but you don't realize those morals you mock are a part of who you are, as you are a part of me."

Drizzt closed his eyes. The full meaning of this meeting became apparent.

"I see, I understand this whole nonsense," he said, trying to mask his shock and frustration, "if you are the goodly ranger, than I must be the Hunter in his purest form. The creation of your own soul has slipped his leash you created and now runs free."

"My, I guess the creature has some intelligence after all," the Ranger said with a sneer. "I lost control, lost myself to the point where all that was left of Drizzt Do'Urden was you. Your freedom is the result of my lack of judgment, but a lack of judgment that I need to correct."

"And what do you propose," the Hunter said, "killing me. You kill me you kill your true nature, the true nature that you denied for too long until it finally defeated you."

"I should put you to the blade and finally have you free from my soul, but I cannot do that. You are a part of me, though I cannot allow you to run free. I have looked on my errors and this needs to end here. Too many have died needlessly; too much blood has been shed."

Drizzt heard the words that and flinched.

"I cannot believe those words were part of my existence," he muttered.

"Your existence?" the Ranger replied.

"Your hypocrisy," the Hunter spat. "Like you never slaughtered in passion. Only you called it an extension of your principles, though it was nothing better than what I have done. I will give you a good example: you once had a moral prohibition against killing your own kind. That died a quick death under the right pressure, allowing you to fully shake loose that principle and put your own sister to the blade. Forget that she was your only true sister; allow yourself neither remorse nor guilt. Only remember that she was evil and the act was completely justified."

The Ranger's grip on the blade tightened and the Hunter knew only his sword could serve where his morals had failed.

"Then maybe we are even, for I would have never committed those horrible acts in the Chapel of Ilmater. I certainly would never have put those innocent, pleading priests to their deaths. I would have never removed the head of that frightened child monk. I recall a little incident about fifty years ago that is so much similar to this."

"Don't you even…"

"A surface raid, a colony of moon elves, one young dark elf that finally woke up to the hell that was his own existence…"

"…and don't forget a small, black haired child with the beaming blue-gold eyes. The one you ran through five years ago."

"She killed herself, remember," the Ranger said, though his face bore a look of pain. "Had I known who she was, she would have lived. Though I am sure you probably enjoyed that. Look who you've pleased."

The Ranger smiled and motioned to the back. The Hunter looked over his shoulder down the tunnel to see it was covered in spider webs as large arachnids dangled from the ceiling and scuttled around on the floor. The Hunter felt ill as he peered through the webs and saw the silhouette of a glowing drider on the other end of the tunnel.

"Is that what you want?" the Ranger asked, his face becoming grave.

The Hunter closed his eyes and shook his head, the full realization of the situation sinking in.

"The Queen of the Demonweb Pits reaches out to embrace you," the cleric said before the fateful battle, words that seemed to echo through the glistening stones.

"You still haven't answered my question," the Ranger said firmly, "are you pleased with yourself?"

The Hunter paused and pondered the question.

"No," he finally said, looking the Ranger straight in the eyes. Drizzt gazed at the man he once was, the goodly ranger who stood before him. "Neither am I pleased with you."

In a flash, the Hunter's hands clasped on his scimitars and raised them against the Ranger. The Ranger parried Icingdeath with Twinkle, but the Hunter's own blue glowing sword made a slice at the Ranger's arm, drawing a slight slice before the Ranger thrust at the Hunter's chest. The Hunter jumped back in one second and charged forward with a flurry of blows. His strategy had to be improvisation because he was fighting an opponent who knew his exact technique: himself. The Ranger stood on guard and responded to the blows with calm parries meant to catch the Hunter off guard and find openings.

The Hunter spun on his right heel and appeared behind the Ranger and score a large slice on the back of his neck, but the Ranger ducked to the side before the blade could go too deep, responding by spinning around and parrying hard. The Hunter gave a feint and slammed his scimitars against the center point of both his opponent's blades, sending waves through his wrists and making him take a second to stabilize his grip. That was just enough time for the Hunter to shove Twinkle through his stomach. The Ranger howled, but jumped out of the way and found enough strength to spin around and thrust at the Hunter, who dodged and shoved Twinkle at a downward angle through the Ranger's shoulder.

The Ranger fell to his knees, blood streaming from his wounds like a river. The Hunter stood before him, looking down at his bloody blades, then at his own, dying face.

"Finish me," the Ranger growled. "Enjoy the sight of your own death."

The Hunter stood, noting the Ranger's fading, but determined eyes. The white pendant of a unicorn head fell from his brown tunic and hung from his neck, glowing with a soft, white light. The unicorn head then turned towards him, its bright, green eyes boring into the Hunter as it gave a melodious neigh. Mielikki was pleading to him and he couldn't bear to hear it. He looked at the glowing pendant, then back at the glowing drider in the back of the cavern; the face of a beautiful, drow woman peering through the webs, her laughter echoing through the stones.

The Hunter closed his eyes and steeled himself against the dissonance of voices.

"I will not finish you," the Hunter said. "Your goddess can save you. If you choose to live, know that I will not yield. You have lost your control for too long to gain it back so easily."

The Ranger glared at him, yet his face betrayed his defeat.

"We cannot exist together in the same strength," the Ranger said, voice weaker. "It would destroy us both."

The Hunter nodded.

"Then know you are defeated. You had a chance to decide your own fate, for I have decided mine."

The Ranger gave a slight smile, before his eyes closed and he fell on the ground. His body then became a gray mist and faded into nothing.

Drizzt closed his eyes. The neighing of the unicorn and the laughter of the drider were gone, replaced by a haunting silence that washed over him. He felt strong, as if he finally gained control of so many things that had consumed him once and never would again. As he felt his new power, the warm sense of goodness that had once been his reason for existence was gone. All was left was an icy chill in his heart that seemed like it had found its rightful home. Now, however, he felt calm enough to recognize the change.

Drizzt then opened his eyes and looked behind him to find the webs and the spiders gone, the Spider Queen no longer tormented him, yet nothing gave him comfort. He looked in front of him and to saw a handsome male drow standing in front of him, red eyes beaming and face in a wide grin. Drizzt's lower lip trembled and his body went numb as he watched Zaknafein lean against the wall and clap his hands.

"I guess there's hope for you after all," Zak said with a laugh, coming from the wall and walking over to his son.

"Perhaps," Drizzt said with a weak smile in spite of himself.

"I have been watching you," Zak said. "To be honest I was expecting this moment for sometime. I'm just glad you made a right decision."

Drizzt looked down at the ground where the Ranger once lay, feeling the burning in his stomach.

"Please don't mock me," Drizzt said in a cracked voice. "You consider this the right decision?"

Zaknafein's gaze became serious, yet still retained a calm smile. Drizzt knew his father's emotions and how his face showed each. It was enough to know that Zak's expression betrayed neither disappointment nor anger. He actually seemed pleased.

"What you have done in the past three months is nothing compared to what you could have done," Zak said. "I have done worse, believe me. In fact I was relatively proud of you considering the circumstances. There was no one right decision, Drizzt, though there were a few wrong ones that you chose not to follow. I taught you to be a decent creature in a place where your race was anything but. I hoped you would retain some principles, yet you chose the life of a saint. I applauded your decision, but it was not who you were and I knew you would realize this in the worst way."

"So I was destined for these three months of… hell seems to be the best word," Drizzt sighed, turning his gaze to the ground.

"You decided your own fate, remember," Zak replied, his smirk widening. "I hope this experience has been an epiphany for you. Now it is time to find out who you really are and gain some stability. In my personal opinion, I think you already have something to lean against. You still have an interesting profession and don't forget your two brothers in arms who care for you deeply, though don't expect them to admit it."

Drizzt smiled as a wave of realization came over him. Zak walked towards his son, laughing and locking him in a tight embrace.

"There is a wonderful spirit who sends her love," Zak whispered in his ear. "She will come to you, but she knows that you need your time before then."

Drizzt's grip became stronger as a wave of tears streamed down his face.

"I love you, father," Drizzt managed to say, his voice merely a gasping sob.

"I love you too, Drizzt," Zak said before pulling back. "And I will see you again under happier circumstances. You have somewhere you need to be now and two friends who are going out of their minds."

Drizzt laughed and became aware of a building light at the side of the tunnel as a small opening appeared in the wall of the cave.

"Send _Shebali_ my regards," Zak said, taking several steps back. "And try to be a little nicer to the human. His heart is in the right place, he just needs to work on how he expresses it."

Drizzt took one last, lingering look at his father. Zaknafein kissed his fingertips and turned his hand up in a wave as he watched his son turn towards the light in the cave and walk through.

00000000

Entreri wished he had no other choice, but the circumstances were too grave. It was moonrise on the third day and Drizzt's state had not changed: his breathing still shallow, his skin still gray, his pupils still dilated, and his body still unresponsive. Entreri allowed the cleric one day to prove himself. After the second day, the assassin started seriously planning this moment, though a part of him still begged him to wait until the third day to be sure. Now, it was painfully obvious: Drizzt Do'Urden, who should have died in battle three days ago, would likely never wake again. The only one who could clean up this mess was the one who made it.

Entreri knelt beside the bed, clutching the dagger that had become one of Drizzt's favorite weapons for non-essential purposes. The blade was poorly forged, yet it was sharp and sturdy. He didn't want to use his own jeweled dagger for his own safety and Jarlaxle refused to lend him any others. Using a scimitar against its own wielder would have been disrespectful.

Entreri tried to chase these distracting emotions out of his head. He was an assassin, dammit, this was his expert skill. One blow to the heart and Drizzt Do'Urden would finally have the death he probably desired. He aimed the dagger a few times, but his trembling hands would not allow him to carry out the blow.

"Damn you, Artemis," he spat at himself.

Entreri looked around at the hollow, empty room adorned with various tapestries and small artifacts of some unknown importance. Mazn'reysla had stepped out on other rounds like he did for the past three days. Jarlaxle was on the now-dry ground with a few of the Auzcovyn rogues playing bones around a fire. He had become rather friendly with this colony of drow, actually finding some members of his race who seemed to share many of the same goals and interests. Jarlaxle know what Entreri planned to do, though he did not know when or if it would actually happen. He knew Jarlaxle would mourn, maybe try to kill him after learning what he did, until the shock finally subsided, leaving him to accept that this was how it should have ended.

Entreri clutched Drizzt's shoulder and shook him before calling his name. There was still no response. Entreri gave a painful sigh, feeling reluctant to do this for the first time in his life. He clutched the dagger and located a point on Drizzt's bare chest where he could quickly slip the blade through the ribs, cleanly sever the aorta, and bring him instantly to the afterlife. Entreri tried not to look at the peaceful face of the man who had become so much a part of his life: once an enemy, then a companion, and now…a friend?

"For what it's worth," Entreri said, voice cracking slightly, "I always respected you. Maybe I should have applauded your skill, though maybe my foolishness those years ago actually did. I am sorry about all that has happened to you and I know that this is probably what you wanted. If it is not, wake now and prove me wrong."

He looked at Drizzt again. The drow made no response. Entreri gave a pained sigh, steeling himself for what he had to do next.

"For what it's worth," he continued, "I actually started to like you. I'm sorry it had to end this way. Goodbye, old friend."

After a moment's hesitation, he took a deep breath, raised the dagger, and felt a strong grip on his wrist that pulled his hand around as another ebony hand took the dagger and placed it at his throat. Entreri froze and his jaw dropped as a wave of denied emotions washed over him in an instant, all the while staring at Drizzt Do'Urden sitting straight up and holding the dagger to his throat with a devilish smirk and a gleam in his now visible lavender irises.

"For what it's worth," Drizzt said, "I actually started to like you too. And I'm not going anywhere."

Drizzt slowly lowered the dagger, though Entreri stayed frozen.

"You son of a bitch," Entreri managed to gasp out.

Drizzt clasped his shoulder with one hand and slowly pulled him into a loose embrace. Entreri managed to lift and arm and clap his back, before keeping his hand in place on his shoulder and actually enjoying this moment with his companion, nay, his friend.

"You're lucky," Entreri sneered in his ear, "I could have killed you in a second."

"Of course," Drizzt replied calmly, though neither broke the embrace.

Neither did they see Jarlaxle standing in the doorway, watching this scene with a huge grin on his face and holding back a triumphant laugh as one lingering tear rolled down his cheek.

**Author's Note:** A few more chapters to go, so stay tuned. A huge thanks to WitchWolf for pointing me in the direction of some great information on Vhaeraun for both this chapter and future ones.


	10. Brothers in Arms

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: Drow translations courtesy of House Maerdyn online translator.

**Chapter 10: Brothers-in-Arms**

He had waited until Entreri had finally broken the embrace and ended his moment welcoming Drizzt back into the world of the living before making his own presence known; a moment of silence that allowed him to wipe away the tears from his ebony cheeks and put on a more serious face. It only took one look at Drizzt sitting up in bed, lavender eyes wide open with a beaming smile to conjure more.

"So you finally decided to join us," Jarlaxle said stepping further into the room.

Drizzt laughed as Entreri stepped aside and gave Jarlaxle room to walk forward and lock the drow into a tight embrace. Jarlaxle laughed in triumph as a steady stream of tears fell freely against his young friend's bare shoulder before suddenly pulling back and replacing his serious gaze.

"I was afraid you had passed your usefulness," he continued, though one lingering tear slipped down.

"He said you would never admit it," Drizzt muttered with a smile.

"I don't know what I would or would not admit, but I'm glad you made some friends in whatever universe we went to three days ago."

"Three days," Drizzt said, his face becoming serious. So that was why he woke to Entreri holding a dagger over his chest, saying a pained farewell.

"A Reverie, your cleric called it, though Master Artemis had a different opinion."

Drizzt nodded silently, looking back at Entreri, who stared the floor, hands visibly shaking. His gaze then turned to the bandage wrapped around his stomach and fully weighing how grave his condition had been.

"Giving the young priest the benefit of the doubt, did it serve that purpose?" Jarlaxle asked, his demeanor noticeably more serious.

"Most definitely," Drizzt said. "And I ran into an old friend of yours who sends his regards."

Jarlaxle closed his eyes and sighed with this sudden revelation that wiped away any facades left.

Entreri stood silent and listened to this conversation, adrenalin rushing through every muscle and the dreaded, aching burn building behind his eyes. He then walked past Jarlaxle, who barely noticed his presence, and found his way out the door into the cool air he needed to calm his nerves

"I was very concerned," he said. "And I know Artemis felt the same."

Jarlaxle looked over to the other side of the room, only to see empty floor where the assassin had once stood.

"Sensitive bastard," Jarlaxle said, walking towards the door and looking out to see Entreri on the ground walking off to parts unknown.

"Let him go," Drizzt said. "He looked rather strained. A little air would probably do him good. Have the Auzcoyn been treating you well?"

"That is a funny matter," Jarlaxle replied, watching Entreri fade into the brush before shaking his head and turning back around. "I entered Cormanthar expecting my reputation to bring forth a host of angry males who I probably wronged at some point in time. The complete opposite has proven true: we were all given a hero's welcome. They call us royalty, and, oddly enough, I see no flattery with ulterior motives in their eyes. I almost believe they sincerely admire us."

With this statement, Drizzt suddenly noted that Jarlaxle had shed his earlier disguise and proudly wore his large, purple hat, his usual high cut vest, and his cloak took on an almost rainbow hue. He was no longer trying to hide himself and instead was flaunting everything else.

"Entreri too?" Drizzt asked.

"He receives admiration, yet it is obvious they know he's human. The call him _Shebali D'aron_."

"The Rogue Knight," Drizzt repeated, "how appropriate."

"They call you _Shebali Qu'ess_."

Drizzt paused and started laughing. So he was now "The Rogue Prince."

"I can get used to that," he said with a grin. "And I suppose you're the Rogue King."

Jarlaxle gave a smug smirk and shrugged, provoking another laugh from Drizzt.

"These titles are only appropriate considering I am your lieutenant," Drizzt said, giving Jarlaxle a semi-serious glare. "Maybe even your protégé?"

Jarlaxle shrugged again and gave an embarrassed laugh.

"So you were conscious enough to hear that conversation," he said.

"Well, if you are so fond of me," Drizzt said, pushing aside his blanket, "I'm sure you want to show me off to your fellows. Are my trousers somewhere in this room?"

"Now you can't be planning on getting up and wandering around this dangerous territory in your condition," Jarlaxle said in a semi-scolding tone.

"Well, I am obviously coherent and relatively healthy."

"You did not merely wake from a pleasant nap, friend. In fact I have seen giants spend as much time as comatose as you were and wake not even able to speak. I doubt a drow could come out of the same and be in the picture of health."

"I guess I'm just well made. If I rotted in this bed for three days, the thought of lying in it any longer just turns my stomach. Not give me the benefit of the doubt and fetch me my trousers."

"As you wish, my prince," Jarlaxle said, a creeping grin coming over his face.

The mercenary walked to the corner of the room towards his brown backpack, reached in, and produced a pair of black, leather pants.

"Your other pairs are caked in either mud or blood. These should get you by for a while."

"You're sure these will fit me," Drizzt said, taking the trousers. "You tend to like your trousers rather tight."

Without another word, Drizzt threw aside the blanket and put on the leggings, which fit remarkably well. After lacing them, he slowly undid the bandage wrapped around his torso. The blood spotted cloth was now off, revealing a slightly thinner abdomen with almost flawless skin. Drizzt traced a small scar on his tightly muscled stomach that was left from the arrow, though the wound appeared to be fully healed.

"Remind me to give my gratitude to Mazn'reysla," he said, looking up at Jarlaxle, who turned back towards him.

The mercenary regarded him curiously as he motioned towards the scar, then his eyes widened.

"Are you in any pain?" he asked

"A little stiff in the muscles, but otherwise fine."

Drizzt then planted his feet on the floor and slowly found the strength in his unused legs. Jarlaxle walked forwards and held out a hand, which Drizzt clasped and allowed to pull him up as he gradually came to his feet. He gave a sharp groan as the muscles in his torso and his legs tightened in protest before gradually accepting their use. Clutching Jarlaxle's hand, Drizzt managed to lift his shaking leg and took a small step, then another. Soon, he let go of his partner's hand and felt his legs relaxing and taking their regular movements. He paced around the room and nodded, knowing that walking would no longer be a difficult task.

Jarlaxle watched this with a huge grin, feeling the happiest he had been in three days. He was glad to see friend was still alive and now awake; even looking to be making a remarkable recovery from his grave wounds. The word "miraculous" crossed his mind briefly, but it was a word the mercenary never liked. The word "divine" was also another word that made him slightly uneasy given the situation. No, Drizzt was tended to by a skilled healer while he himself gathered his own strength. Regardless, the circumstances were still favorable.

"We are now in a rather high tree fort," the mercenary said. "I know you cannot levitate, so the only…reasonable way to the ground is by rope. Are you sure you have the strength to climb down?"

Drizzt located his boots on top of a pile of his blood-caked clothes in another corner of the room. He put them on and grabbed his weapon belt.

"I'm willing to take my chances," he said, strapping the belt around his slender waist and noting how he had to fasten it one notch lower than before. He hadn't eaten in three days and his muscles must have thinned slightly from the lack of use.

"As you wish," Jarlaxle replied, reaching back into his small pack, pulling out a black tunic, and throwing it to Drizzt, who caught it and pulled it over his head.

Jarlaxle spun around and walked towards the door. Drizzt followed close behind and walked out to a small deck overlooking an expanse of well-crafted tree houses connected by a series of decks and stairs, though no ladders lead to the ground. Instead Drizzt saw a few, rolled up ropes tied around tree branches with tight, secure knots. Jarlaxle stepped over the small, ineffective fence on the deck and hovered before his companion, who took the end of a rope, found his hold, and gradually slid to the ground followed by his partner. Drizzt then gave the rope a good tug and it wrapped itself around the tree branch it from which it hung.

"There is a command word to make that rope float down," Jarlaxle said, landing beside him. "I will have to get it for you. Now I need to introduce you to a few friends."

The mercenary walked forward and Drizzt followed behind, scanning the woods and hearing the sounds of laughter and various conversations in the distance. His perception was slightly hazy, yet he was recovering his bearings quickly thanks to moving around in fresh, rain soaked woods. The scent of burning wood came to him next, followed by the sight of a burning fire pit and a few, dark figures gathered around. Drizzt walked forward, yet with a few nerves. He was now surrounded by members of his own race, a position that always terrified him in the past. He just hoped this group was indeed different from his Menzoberanzyr kin.

"Sorry for my long departure," Jarlaxle shouted to the group, who turned around to face him, "but I needed to bring along a friend."

The mercenary threw his arm around Drizzt's shoulder. Drizzt looked first at his companion, then the group. The eight drow around the fire, all dressed in casual woodland garb, walked over to them with cheers, triumphant laughs, and an array of grins. Many patted Drizzt on the back while a few others actually bowed. "_Malla Qu'ess_" and "_Abil_" were the most common words he heard, though one laughing mumble of "Vhaeraun is great" reached his ear.

Drizzt's nerves gradually melted, replaced by a feeling he had never allowed himself before: a small measure of personal pride enough to make him feel ingratiated, yet not too smug. He returned bows with deep nods of recognition and pats with arm clasps as his gait became more confident. Jarlaxle walked to the side of the fire pit and lifted a mid-sized clay bottle.

"Have some roast boar," he said, taking a sip and motioning towards a spit on the fire. "It's absolutely delicious."

One of the drow handed Drizzt a utility knife, which he used to slice off a large hunk of juicy meat he consumed voraciously. Despite the horrible injury to his stomach, he was famished. The game of bones continued as Jarlaxle jumped back into the group and took the dice while handing the bottle to Drizzt.

"They brew their own ale here too," he said. "It is quite good."

Jarlaxle then looked at the bottle and nodded, Drizzt noticing the gesture not so much as a statement of quality but more as an indication the liquid was untainted. He sniffed its bitter contents and took a sip. The ale was indeed of a good quality. The alcohol was also burning off the lingering taste of blood and gastric juices that still clung to his mouth and the dull sting in his sinuses and the back of his throat woke his senses slightly. Drizzt then took a deep swig that was met with cheers from some of the players and a laugh from Jarlaxle.

"So where is my cleric?" Drizzt asked. "I wish to show him my proper gratitude."

"He is off on other business," Jarlaxle said.

"Helping remove the heads of a few followers of Eilistraee," a wild-haired, female drow in a green, sleeveless shirt added with a laugh that was joined in by other members of the group. "A clan Xalryln found two days ago. We are so much in the Masked Lord's favor now victory will be with us."

The rest of the drow raised their respective knives and bottles with an array of cheers. Drizzt nodded in understanding, though he was neither surprised nor offended by this discussion. In fact it seemed almost ordinary; barbaric, but ordinary. He raised his bottle and took a drink, silently toasting to the death of the Ranger as he enjoyed the conversation.

The next few hours were filled with food, drink, and general merrymaking. His stomach comfortably full with boar meat and a few more drinks making him feel slightly calmer. He had never done any serious drinking in his life, yet he was making an exception this time. Drizzt eventually joined in the game and became more comfortable with his fellows. A few more drow would approach the group and greet Drizzt with a few words of high greeting and he found himself distracted by many different conversations.

The Auzcovyn were a mix of males and females, yet males made the vast majority. All wore clothing of various fashions and indicated various professions. In conversation, he found most were fighters, yet there were many rangers and rogues, while a few others were bards and spellcasters of varying disciplines.

Many boasted of how many people they killed, how creative they could be with torture techniques, and how many times they had raided the villages of some local enemy or another, be it hostile elves or small cells of Eilistraee worshipers. Drizzt knew this was a typical gathering of rowdy, bloodthirsty drow, but it was obvious this group had a culture different from Menzoberranzan: the usual sense of constant rivalry and intrigue was significantly muted. The manner and interactions of these drow showed they actually seemed to have some loyalty towards each other; almost a slight, unspoken sense of honor that united them in a common purpose. It made Drizzt wonder if Vhaeraun was more a leader of his flock instead of a divisive presence who ruled by fear like Lolth. These thoughts went through his head as he savored the first warm company he had known in three months besides his two partners; his brothers-in-arms.

The introspection slowly crept in, the realities of the past three days coming before him. He wanted to push these thoughts out of his head, but they clung onto his slowly growing inebriation and could not be lost so easily. He continued the games and conversations, trying to mask this sudden distress from his fellows, but the growing pressure in his bladder gave him a fortunately convenient excuse for leaving and settling his problems alone.

"I need to give some offerings to the trees," he said rising, "I shall return."

With the bottle still in his hand, he walked away from the group and found a secluded patch of trees by a small stream where he could complete any physical or mental business alone. He put the bottle by the stream and walked further towards the trees to relieve himself, then finished, restrung his trousers, and crashed to a sitting position beside the water, grapping the bottle and taking another swig with a pained sigh that resembled a slight sob.

It was then when all the bizarre events of the past three days crashed on him. He had almost died three times in the course of three days: once at the end of an arrow, the other in his deep state, and the last at the end of Entreri's dagger. It was almost as it was five years ago, yet Entreri was the one who saved him the first time. The last time was more likely the beginnings of a mercy killing than an act of pride or rage.

Drizzt had faced his own death on more occasions than he could count, starting with the moment of staring down a dagger after his birth to this latest incident. He had even been seconds away from the end before, yet none of these occasions ever gave him the slightest pause. He never feared death and wasted no time to dread the consequences of his mortality.

For some reason, this time was different. This time was not a simple matter of a near-death experience that was simply started and resolved. He remembered returning to Mithril Hall after the Thousand Orcs War and hearing stories about how Bruenor had lingered in a deep coma for days, leading many to believe his soul had escaped, though his body still lived. Drizzt had been in a coma and his visions seemed something other than a dream; had the same happened to him?

Drizzt stared at the stream as a small smile came over his pensive face has he reached a personal conclusion: he was glad the potion had not fully worked. He was glad his body rebelled against any attempts at healing his wounds, finally giving him a blissful time of rest and contemplation he had never known before. He finally allowed himself the perfect moment to resolve so many issues that plagued his mind for years, making him finally able to hush the yells of both the Hunter and the Ranger and find some sense of his true self. Then there was Zaknafein standing before him with a huge grin, telling him he was making the right decisions.

Mazn'reysla had called his coma a Reverie, and, in Drizzt's eyes, the cleric was right. Now he was back in the world, given a real second opportunity. It was a proposition that terrified him.

He threw back the bottle again and felt the stinging tears well in his eyes, fully giving into the wave of emotion he lost after Catti-brie died. He let out a few quiet sobs and feeling a great release after three months of constant anger. As his tears were finally spent, his keen ears caught a slight shifting of brush behind him. He looked back to see Entreri approaching.

"Enjoy your walk," Drizzt said with a slight laugh through his suddenly ceased tears.

Entreri nodded slightly as he walked over.

"That will not help matters," the assassin said, reaching down and grabbing the bottle from Drizzt's hand with a glare. "Believe me."

Before Drizzt could say anything, Entreri took a long swig and sat down beside him.

"You appear to be doing well," the assassin said, glancing in his direction.

Drizzt nodded.

"Remarkably well," he said, "especially for someone who just came out of a state that would have felled a giant. At least that's what Jarlaxle seems to think."

"If my opinion means anything, I would agree."

"I assume that is why I woke to find you aiming a dagger over my chest."

Entreri took a swig, his face bearing a look of irritation and pain.

"That is a statement of observation not anger," Drizzt said softly. "You figured hope was lost for me and you made a decision that I thank you for, though I was glad I could wake in time. If hope was lost, I would have wanted you to take that blow."

"You are very perceptive, I will give you that much," Entreri said, taking a sip. "It is the one thing I hated about you most of all."

Drizzt gave a chuckle in spite of himself.

"I know. My perception of individual nature is remarkable," Drizzt said sarcastically, reaching over and taking the bottle. "I can see things about people, know them better than they know themselves, give advice or make judgments about people's strengths and flaws that they themselves are too ashamed, or maybe cowardly to admit. Dear gods if only I could apply that to myself."

Entreri gave a dirty laugh.

"Your words not mine," he replied with a grin.

"Yes, I am sure you are just enjoying this," Drizzt said with a laugh, taking a long swig. "You probably love seeing this haughty bastard who has haunted your thoughts for years finally admit he doesn't know everything."

"I shouldn't have fought you," Entreri said, taking the bottle back. "I could have saved so much blood and energy by just getting a few drinks into you."

Drizzt gave a loud, soul-clearing laugh.

"So tell me, Entreri," he said, "Did you actually start to like me before or after I was impaled?"

Entreri wanted to make some kind of snide comment, but it was a question that stuck him deeply. He leaned forward and ran a hand over his goatee wondering how he could find an intelligent response to a question he himself had no answers for, yet at least. It was bad enough trying to contemplate this in his own head, but now Do'Urden was fully conscious and asking this question.

"I really have no answers to that," he said in a calm tone. "Perceive that how you will, it is the absolute truth."

Drizzt paused in contemplation, and then nodded in complete understanding. The meaning of that statement was profound: Entreri was at last admitting a point of weakness. Entreri's somber expression broke into a small smile.

"I think the best phrase that describes our situation came from your mouth after you were shot," the assassin said, taking a sip.

Drizzt regarded him with a curious expression before grabbing the bottle from his hand.

"I have been reading lips since I was ten," Entreri explained, "and I saw those last words pass your mouth before you were consumed by blackness. You said, 'Fate does have a sense of humor.' It is a statement to which I paid no mind at the time, but it lingered. Those words struck me as appropriate, even though I don't completely agree."

"And what makes you say that?" Drizzt asked, taking a swig and noting that the bottle was almost empty.

"I don't believe in fate, it is a term used by those who either deny or don't understand their own actions. It is too convenient to blame all one's fortunes on some game the gods play for their own amusement; it is quite foolish, actually. Yes, we cannot control all events around us, but we can certainly control how we react to them. In the end, what matters most?"

Drizzt looked into the trees letting the words sink in and remembering what he said to the Ranger during his deep trance.

"We decide our own fates," Drizzt said. "If fate brought us here, we certainly played a significant role ourselves.

Entreri raised the bottle with a half smirk before taking another swig.

"My you have grown wise in your later years," Drizzt said with a laugh. "Though I can only imagine the experience of killing people for a pay can conjure some profound philosophies on the universe."

"With each kill, I grow wiser," Entreri replied with a wicked grin, suddenly remembering one of his favorite, personal mottos.

Drizzt smiled and looked at the stream as the weight of his words began to sink in.

"With added wisdom, I grow stronger," Drizzt said softly.

Entreri's smile melted. There was no way the drow could have heard even part of that statement before, but his damn perception…

"Do you actually want to know why I saved your hide, Do'Urden," Entreri said, snatching the bottle and coming to his feet to face the drow. His expression was a cross between a grin and a sneer. "And perhaps I can answer the question you posed earlier, though I can guarantee it will not be pleasant."

Drizzt raised his eyebrows and regarded him silently.

"Yes, I kept your flesh from rotting. You still breathe, you're heart still beats, and you can sit beside me and make conversation in the physical world. By physical definition, you are still alive; though in many other ways you are dead. I have always found that dead men make the best company."

Entreri threw the bottle back and consumed its last few drops. He then placed it before Drizzt, who rested his head in his hands in silent contemplation, before turning on his heel and walking away.

To be continued…


	11. Sweet Blasphemy

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Warning: This chapter contains a graphic scene of torture meant to further the plot and demonstrate character psychology and is in no way meant to be gratuitous or misogynistic.

**Chapter 11: Sweet Blasphemy**

The sounds of the village grew among the chirp of crickets and the swish of leaves blown against the wind. Drizzt's senses started to clear slightly, though the effects of the alcohol were making his step slightly clumsy as his mind wandered on so many other matters.

"I have always found that dead men make the best company," Entreri said earlier, words that played in his mind over and over again, yet he did not need to find their logic. They were some of the truest words ever spoken, a fact that Drizzt accepted, though with a hollow stomach.

He tried to focus his attention back on walking through the thick brush back to the village, putting these troubling thoughts aside and trying to concentrate on what he would do the rest of the evening. Maybe he would re-join the game of bones he had abandoned earlier. When he sobered, he wanted to bring out his unused scimitars and see if Entreri was up for sparring. Maybe his new friend would actually be interested in a swordfight that did not involve them trying to kill each other, though Drizzt could only hope.

As he walked, the swish of leaves was mingled with a steadily rising applause coming from another direction. The growing cheers and chants were dotted with the occasional shout of a male voice. As he grew closer, he clearly heard Xalryln giving some kind of speech to his warriors as they marched back to the Auzcovyn village. Maybe this was the gathering of soldiers returning from the raid on the colony of Eilistraee worshippers. Drizzt drew closer and clearly saw eight warriors entering the village with their own fanfare, carrying the severed heads of various drow while raising their respective swords to a welcome of cheers and shouts of praise.

Drizzt gradually emerged from the brush and entered the perimeter of the village. As he walked closer, a few of the soldiers glanced in his direction and froze; their red eyes wide. Xalryln noticed this sudden reaction from his soldiers and turned around to see Drizzt standing before him fully clothed and alert with his scimitars belted around his waist. His lined face turned into a wicked grin.

"Vhaeraun is great!" the war leader shouted to every ear present.

By this time, all the soldiers and most of the villagers were staring at Drizzt, some bearing looks of awe while others wore grins and gave triumphant laughs. Gradually, a cheer rose through the group as many raised their swords. Drizzt drew Icingdeath with a smile, gave a salute, and sheathed the blade. He saw Jarlaxle standing at the back of the crowd giving a polite clap with his face bearing a look of mock amusement. Entreri stood beside him, arms folded around his chest, glancing at Drizzt and then their partner looking like he was holding a dirty laugh behind his mildly annoyed expression.

"Vhaeraun is great indeed," Drizzt replied calmly with a small smile. "And I am happy to say I come before you in full health thanks to your hospitality and the great ability of Mazn'reysla, who is truly an able cleric."

He looked amid the crowd and saw Mazn'reysla come beside Xalryln, his masked face bearing a calm expression with a hint of a smirk, an expression that Drizzt found somewhat unnerving.

"Your recovery is a blessing upon us all, _Malla Qu'ess_," Xalryln continued. "It is an honor to have such a heroic warrior in our village."

"Your people have been most accommodating and I bear nothing but respect for all."

Xalryln gave a triumphant laugh and clasped his forearm

"This is a night of happiness. I will give our cleric his time to assess your condition," the war leader said. "After all our matters are attended, we shall join in celebration of our many victories."

"Vhaeraun has shown us his blessings," Mazn'reysla said, his expression unchanging. "And we are truly in his favor."

The crowd cheered.

"Fall out!" Xalryln cried to his soldiers, who scattered with their trophies in hand, many passing by Drizzt and bowing, while others gave him bloody pats on the shoulder.

Mazn'reysla came before him and kept his gaze on his ward in silence.

"I owe you my unending gratitude," Drizzt said with a small bow. "I am alive because of your skill."

The cleric's thin mouth came up in a sneering grin as he turned around.

"Walk with me," he said before walking away.

Drizzt followed close behind as the cleric walked towards the woods. He caught Jarlaxle's eye again and saw the mercenary giving an exaggerated bow with the words "_Malla Qu'ess_" across his lips. Drizzt gave him a polite smile while flashing an obscene gesture. Jarlaxle blew him a kiss as Entreri finally lost the laugh he was trying to hold. Drizzt chuckled and turned his attention turned back to the cleric, who continued walking with a casual, yet determined stride.

A short distance into the woods, Mazn'reysla stopped and turned around. His small hand then gently clasped the bottom of Drizzt's tunic and lifted it to expose his abdomen, a few fingers feeling the skin and muscles around the former wound before tracing the tiny scar and producing a slight, reactionary twitch. With a nod, he lowered the tunic and gently put the back of his hand to Drizzt's forehead, cheeks, and neck while leaning in slightly and looking into his eyes as his nose slightly crinkled. Drizzt looked to the hand and noticed a large, bright green tattoo of a serpent that stuck out against his ebony skin. He also noticed several small, deep scars around the lengths of his fingers and around his wrist that was most likely some kind of spell focus.

Mazn'reysla then removed his hand and took a step back with a satisfied nod.

"Your wound is fully healed," Mazn'reysla said calmly. "Not only the external blow, but the damage to your stomach as well. I can tell you have had a full meal of meat and have not regurgitated it; in fact your stomach accepts it and contracts normally and is even tolerating a good amount of ale. Your flesh is warm and your pupils respond normally, and despite the mild intoxication, you are completely alert with your natural reflexes intact. Overall you are healthy and fully awakened from the Reverie, though in your physical abilities. Would you place faerie fire on that tree over there?"

Mazn'reysla motioned towards a young fir shrub in the distance. Drizzt stepped forward, waved his fingers, and the tree was soon ablaze in the harmless, purple flames.

"Good, you have your natural abilities," the cleric said.

"Maybe I should have prepared my one, minor spell to complete this examination," Drizzt said with a small hint of sarcasm.

"Yes, your ability as a ranger to find certain plants and animals," Mazn'reysla replied softly. "If only you had given yourself some time to attune with the Lady of the Forest this evening, open yourself to her wisdom. I doubt she will allow you that spell ever again, so it is of no concern."

Drizzt's eyes narrowed in protest, but he knew the cleric likely spoke true.

"Permit me to state the obvious," Mazn'reysla continued, "but Mielikki doesn't know you anymore. You are full well aware of that fact."

"I recall you saying the same thing to me but three days ago," Drizzt said. "Only then she was merely sad."

"I will say the circumstances were different then. Three days ago you were dying, now you are dead. It is time to shed your final tears for Drizzt Do'Urden the goodly hero and allow the true Drizzt Do'Urden to reclaim his own flesh."

Drizzt rolled his eyes and started gave a pained laugh.

"Here it comes," he groaned. "With all due respect, I am in the mood for a conversation that doesn't involve you proselytizing? No actually, I will listen to you. Just get me another bottle of ale and I will listen to every praise you give to the Masked God."

"I don't proselytize," the cleric said calmly with a small hint of annoyance, "though I can understand your dislike of clerics. It has been the same with your two companions, who have given me nothing but glares for the past three days, though I blame none of you. I'm sure your human fondly remembers being a child violated by his father, a goodly priest of Tyr. How about your kinsman whose heart was ripped out when he was five by his mother, the Matron of the First House, who only resurrected him to keep as an annoyance to her other children."

Drizzt froze, remembering a snide comment Entreri made about a month ago.

"Some priests cater to their flock, but save their real efforts for their children," the assassin mumbled as they passed the Church of Tyr in Baldur's Gate.

Then there was Jarlaxle's occasional: "The Nine Hells are so lovely this time of year," a phrase he would say before getting involved in some perilous situation.

"I doubt you heard this from them?" Drizzt asked, though he doubted the priest's words were lies.

"I have my sources, though I'm sure having your own mother rip out your father's heart makes you at least understand my point. I speak on authority as the son of a Matron who flayed my father before my eyes when I was twelve. I just hope you are not planning to cut me apart like those servants of Ilmater or stick a sword through my throat like you did to two priests of Mielikki running among the wild elves."

Drizzt swallowed hard as his skin grew cold. Mielikki had truly abandoned him.

"If you want to carry your mobile flesh back to the camp and brine it more, be my guest," the priest said with a slight laugh. "If you are actually interested in finding a way to save your soul, I suggest you give me half a chance to speak."

"Fine," Drizzt said with a defeated sigh. "I'm willing to listen."

The cleric smiled then turned and walked around the immediate area, picking plants from the ground that Drizzt recognized as sprigs of wild peppermint and lavender. When he had a handful, the cleric almost merrily walked further into the woods, Drizzt following close behind and waiting to see what he would do next.

A minute later, Mazn'reysla came to a small outcropping of rocks, crouched down, and traced a complicated symbol. The flat granite then became a watery portal he crawled into, a hand beckoning for Drizzt to follow. With a deep breath, Drizzt came down on his knees and crept through the cold opening before finding himself on the floor of a small, dark cavern, looking back to see the watery doorway fade back into the stones of the cave. He let his eyes shift into infrared vision and saw a long expanse of high cavern.

The cleric waved his hand and faerie fire lit the cave, the source of the blaze being various dead trees rooted in the rock, the fire looking like moving leaves. The light fully illuminated a round room whose walls were mostly bare save for some patches of glowing fungus whose bluish light seemed to crawl over the walls. The cleric knelt down to a round, smoothly carved pit, placed the herbs over a small pile of pine branches, waved a hand, and caused the brush to self combust in a gentle fire that produced an aromatic smoke. Drizzt breathed in beautiful scent and rapidly felt his head clearing as the lingering remains of his inebriation faded.

"Mint to clear the senses," Drizzt said with a smile, "lavender and pine for relaxation. All of these herbs are used for cleansing. I should have known this was your purpose; you would rather have me clear headed."

Mazn'reysla said nothing, only stoked the tiny blaze with a thin branch.

"My incense of mind control ran out yesterday," the cleric said, "so this will have to do."

"I apologize for my rudeness," Drizzt said in a humble, yet irritated tone.

"No need," Mazn'reysla said, looking up. "I expected nothing less."

"After all," Drizzt continued, "you endured three days of the human's dirty gazes and probably a few shouting fits from our kinsman and still healed me."

"They both wept over you," the cleric said calmly, "in their own fashion, of course, but the tears were still shed. I would just come in occasionally, say my spells, and allow them to bring you back, though much of it was your own doing."

Mazn'reysla turned his gaze back to the fire.

"Do you know why we go into Reverie?" he asked, stoking the flame's dying embers.

Drizzt was briefly caught off guard by this question, but soon realized he had stepped into a philosophical conversation.

"We need a moment to replenish our spent resources," Drizzt said, "while allowing us to pause and reflect on matters that may not be in our conscious thought at the time, but they come into our dreams."

"The humans waste several hours a day on hollow rest," the cleric continued, "while all of elven-kind spends but a few in silent contemplation and wake refreshed. Then sometimes, the physical form is taxed beyond its breaking as the mind is plagued by too many hurts to resolve in a few moments. Our forms can only take so much before it gives out. Those who die do so, while others need a deeper Reverie."

"That was my state," Drizzt said nodding.

"I know. My lord whispered in my ear that you would not walk from that battlefield, so it was no surprise when you ran out to face the horde of foes alone. Your soul screamed for rest, a rest you were granted."

"So Vhaeraun willed for me to be hit with that arrow?"

"No, you willed it. Vhaeraun saw it in your heart."

Drizzt sighed as he remembered something else Entreri said earlier:

"We cannot control what happens around us, but we can certainly control how we react to it."

Mazn'reysla then rose, and abruptly walked down the corridor, a finger motioning for Drizzt to follow. Drizzt raised his eyebrows and followed, keeping his senses open for anything this cleric planned. The two walked into a small hallway to another stone wall, where Mazn'reysla traced another symbol then walked through the stone. Drizzt followed, coming through the wall and into another room much different from the serenity of the foyer.

The room was also illuminated by plants infused with faerie fire, which made the white granite walls and splashes of dried blood glow with iridescence. Shackles were anchored alongside blood-painted skeletons that were imbedded in the stone like three dimensional frescoes, bony arms folded over their chest bearing carvings of mystical glyphs.

"Is this complex your private workshop?" Drizzt asked.

"In its former life, this cave was an encampment of Spider Kissers; Lolth worshippers," the cleric said. "They formed a little temple here where they stayed when they weren't launching attacks on us and our allies. Then our friends among the wood elves found this place. It became ours after an hour, though it took us a month to purify it."

The two walked to the end of the long, rectangular room to a rounded alcove covered by a plain, black tapestry. Mazn'reysla moved the cloth aside to reveal a female drow in the robes of a priestess of Lolth. Her and legs were gone and metal rods were planted in place, anchoring her to the wall. Her black skin bore an array of cuts that almost resembled tattoos. Her head was slumped to her chest as a long string of foaming saliva poured from her mouth.

"A chamomile tea with tiny sprigs of hemlock is just enough to bring her Reverie," the priest said.

"She also cannot cast spells when she is unconscious," Drizzt added, savoring the sight of a priestess of Lolth ; a woman who was probably feared and admired for her beauty, mangled and locked in this state of complete helplessness. He only imagined her former arms removing the heart of her suitor or wielding a snake-head whip against her children. He took a closer look at her gray, gaunt face and swore he knew her from somewhere.

Mazn'reysla produced a small bottle from his belt pocket, removed the cork, tilted her head back, and poured a small amount of the potion down her throat. Her eyes shot open as the back of her head slammed against the stone and a mass of curses coming from her mouth.

"There, there, dear," Mazn'reysla said, patting her head and dodging her biting teeth. "I'd like you to meet tonight's guest. Saeth Armgo, this is Drizzt Do'Urden."

The priestess spat at Drizzt.

"Traitor!" she screamed. "Lolth will bend you over and rape you both with her barbed legs when you reach the Demonweb Pits."

Drizzt let out a loud guffaw in response to this tirade as Mazn'reysla flashed him an amused smirk.

"You laugh now, you son of a rotting corpse…" the priestess' oaths continued on.

"Saeth Armgo," Drizzt said, "I remember you. Low lady of House Barrison del'Armgo, cousin to Matron Mez'Barris if I recall."

"Mistress at Arach-Tinilith," Mazn'reysla continued, running a hand through her thick white hair. "You remember that tiny flail she carried so she could score the flesh of any male who recited his lessons wrong?"

"Unfortunately yes," Drizzt said, leaning into the face of his former teacher.

Mazn'reysla then bent to the ground and rose with a large spider in his hand. The priestess' eyes shot wide as she shouted more curses. The cleric of Vhaeraun slowly brought the spider before her face.

"Friend, would you mind opening her mouth?" Mazn'reysla said to Drizzt.

"Not at all," Drizzt replied, coming beside the priestess, grabbing her forehead in one hand and the bottom of her jaw with another. The priestess thrashed, but Drizzt's grip tightened until he heard a loud crack and the priestess howled. Her jaw now hung limp and she screamed as Mazn'reysla guided the spider into her mouth one leg at a time, then the whole body walked into the small space. The priest of Vhaeraun then motioned for Drizzt to hold her broken jaw closed as he put a thin needle threaded with a gold strand through her lips until her mouth was firmly sown shut. The priestess tried to gag, but she could only let out a few whimpers combined with small chokes.

"Our lovely former instructor came up with her minions four days ago to cause a little trouble," Mazn'reysla said calmly, putting a hand around her cheeks, feeling the spider fill the expanse of her mouth, and massaging his hand over her jaw to guide the creature down her throat. "She slew four of my fellows with one fire spell, and then turned her attentions towards her kobold slave as if she had just completed a minor task. When she was captured, I told her I would make her remember those two brothers and two sisters of mine she burned alive, one for each day until she would know the comfort of death. This is her fourth day. A pity, I was actually starting to enjoy her company."

"Enjoy her company?" Drizzt said in a disgusted tone.

"Not in that manner," Mazn'reysla said gravely, squeezing down her neck and feeling her gag reflex attempt to force the spider out. "Our phallus is a sacred part of our being. It should be used for pleasure and to spread our seed, never as a weapon. We know what it is to be victimized for our sex. To perform the same makes us no better than our former captors, though unfortunately many of my fellows hold other ideas. I normally avoid spilling the blood of women on purpose, but this is my only exception."

The priestess' complexion steadily turned blue as her eyes watered. Her whimpers now turning into chortling gasps.

"She will be gone in a few minutes," the priest said, drawing his hand away. "Would you like to give her a few final, memorable moments with her former student before she meets Lolth?"

Drizzt paused in contemplation as if coming up with a strategy. He looked at a small, cedar table next to Mazn'reysla and noticed a small utility knife that he picked up. He then slowly brought it to her face and slowly cut through the cartilage of her nose, separating the tissue from the bone and listening to her choking whimpers as he slowly severed her once slender nose and brought it before her eyes. He tossed the tissue aside before grabbing one of her pointed ears and slowly hacking through it, savoring her look of horror while glancing at Mazn'reysla, who watched the scene in amusement. When one ear was severed, Drizzt turned his attention to the other ear, taking extra care to slice through every part of skin, knowing he hit a nerve when her chortled scream became louder and her face contorted more.

"Now our beautiful mistress dies a mangled wretch," Drizzt said with a laugh, savoring her horrified, blue face. "Do you mind if I finish her?"

"Be my guest."

Drizzt traced a line down the center of her chest, drawing a thin line of blood, and gave one, deep slice that cut through the cartilage around her sternum and opened her chest cavity. Drizzt pried her ribcage open and reached his hand inside her chest, slowly clutching her rapidly beating heart.

"I would like to give you a taste of what one of your peers did to my father," he whispered softly into the bloody hole where her ear used to be.

He yanked hard, pulling the organ free of its stringy veins and arteries. The priestess gave one last muted gurgle before going limp. Drizzt looked down at the priestess' heart, which felt soft in his hand. He paused and savored the last twitch and spurt of blood as if savoring a fine wine or a beautiful sunrise.

"Sweet, sweet blasphemy," Mazn'reysla said, flashing Drizzt a satisfied look.

"Indeed," Drizzt replied with a rising smile.

It was a moment of vindication and validation. The Hunter was alive and well, but it was no longer just a part of him that was only unleashed as a weapon. Drizzt laughed with the final satisfaction as he fully appreciated his true nature.

Mazn'reysla gave him a wide grin. The priest knew what Drizzt felt in his soul.

"Would you be so kind as to set the heart down on that table beside you?"

Drizzt obliged, setting the organ down on a blood-soaked, cedar table before looking to Mazn'reysla, who was staring at the blue corpse.

"Doesn't it just satisfy you to every core of your being to make a priestess of the Spider Bitch taste what she has probably done to so many?" the priest asked, drawing a black dagger and slowly cutting each thread in her lip one at a time. "I remember her passing me in the street when I was ten and hitting me with that damn snake whip just for sport. And I had to take it, I had to avert my eyes and walk away. I remember the lashing my sister gave me later, for I must have done something to offend such a high lady of Lolth to earn such a lash."

He cut the last thread and the priestess' deformed jaw flopped open.

"Such was the story of my life," he continued. "Every hour of every day I was told I was no better than a piece of trash along the road. I actually believed it too. I so feared Lady Lolth, tried to do all I could to earn at least a scrap of her favor. That was the boy you saw at Sorcere, the miserable creature who believed the only way he could be worth more than a future corpse was to contribute to my family and break himself learning the magical arts."

Mazn'reysla reached inside the priestess' mouth and gently clasped her tongue.

"Then I started to actually hear the words pouring from their mouths and for some reason I started to doubt. I don't know why, I just knew in my heart they had to be lies."

The priest slowly cut through the tiny muscle with his dagger, gradually severing the tissue and pulling it out with a trickle of blood as he gazed at it.

"The guilt was too great. The more I tried to push my doubts aside, the more the doubts grew. I started cutting into my flesh, rubbing in salt, scouring away my internal blasphemy."

Drizzt leaned against the table, taking in a story that had been too common. Mazn'reysla smoothed out the tongue and handed it to Drizzt, who placed it on the table beside the heart.

"I remember the night my thoughts of blasphemy became so strong, I nearly peeled all the skin from my hand."

The priest raised his right hand, displaying the scars Drizzt saw earlier.

"I was about to cut off my hand in self-punishment, until he came, my friend in shadow. He helped me put the skin back and heal my cuts. All the while, he told me to follow my heart; know that the words of my mother any my sisters, my entire city, was lies. Remember, oaths are only lies if you do not believe them, and I most certainly did not. He said there were so many like me, so many all over Faerûn. Many lived; clutching the shadows in fear, while many found a way to cut through their bonds and live truly free, a complete, blissful freedom I could only know if I knew myself and knew their lies."

"Who was your friend?" Drizzt asked in a low tone.

Mazn'reysla smiled.

"Most who see him for the first time cannot see his face," the priest said, "but I did. I always saw the spirits a little better than everyone else, it was the only other thing that made me worth anything. They made me build up my Sight, but they built up a weapon against themselves. My new friend stayed with me until Narbondel's last light, and then he faded and told me he would return. He did indeed, staying with me through many horrible nights. We would talk about the day, not just about our hatred for Lolth, but about simple things. This continued for three years, even after graduation when I took my place as a house wizard. Then I found the strength to leave. I stopped listening to their lies and I heard my own voice, as well as legends about others, including the hated Drizzt Do'Urden, my peer, my classmate, who had escaped his house two weeks earlier."

Mazn'reysla gave Drizzt a beaming smile. Drizzt bit his lip as he regarded the look of an individual who seemed truly thankful; a huge smile that made him feel guilty about insulting his peer earlier.

"When I had my strength," the cleric continued, "my friend gave me the spells to get past the house wards, though I will admit putting the garrote across my mother's throat and laying her head on our family altar was my idea, though my friend didn't seem to mind. He led me to safety outside the city and showed me to the portal that took me to the surface. I'm sure you can imagine the wonders I saw there."

"The sea of stars every night," Drizzt said, the back of his throat tightening with those first memories. "The glowing orange sunrise every morning."

"That was the one stinging pain I truly felt was actually worthwhile. After that, I wandered. I was spat at, attacked, but I never cared. I had been through so much worse. Through it all I had my friend in shadow and I made a vow to help others like me and help my friend against those who wronged us and would bring us to our knees."

"Your friend is Vhaeraun?" Drizzt asked. "He speaks to you?"

Mazn'reysla nodded, his huge, almost innocent smile still in tact.

"The Masked Lord watches out for his own. We are his brothers, not his slaves."

Drizzt came to his feet and faced the cleric, remembering his evening with the Auzcovyn and how all seemed to share a sense of unity. Mazn'reysla's story rang through his mind, a story so similar to his own.

"Drizzt Do'Urden gave me the strength to escape," Mazn'reysla said. "It is I who owed you my life and it is a debt I happily repaid. Though I see my inspiration has had a more difficult time finding his place in the universe: first the Underdark marauder, then the saintly warrior, and now the broken soul who stands before me now at the brink of his own resurrection. If only I could give Drizzt Do'Urden the strength to know himself."

Drizzt paused and looked at the severed body parts on the bench, his hands trembling.

"Would you like to speak with him?" the priest asked. "I see in your eyes you wish for answers yet are too scared to ask. I can only answer so much. It is better if you had the conversation together."

Drizzt let the words sink in.

"You can call him?" he asked.

"He sends no ugly piles of wax to do what he can do himself."

Drizzt took a breath and nodded.

"Call him," he said, putting all reason and doubt aside.

Author's Note: Once again thanks to WitchWolf for the info on Vhaeraun. Herb references appear courtesy of _Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs_.


	12. Games the Gods Play

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: While this chapter is not as violent as the previous, it does contain some depictions of the Demonweb Pits that may be disturbing. This chapter also contains a brief scene of very mild slash. Enjoy.

Information on Vhaeraun courtesy of the Chosen of Vhaeraun website.

**Chapter 12: Games the Gods Play**

A thick fog permeated the trees, steeping with the firs to enhance the fresh smell of pine that Drizzt deeply inhaled to calm his nerves. He watched his footing on the leaf and branch covered ground as his gaze kept ahead to the black cloak and long, champagne blond hair of Mazn'reysla, who had not spoke since they left the caves. Drizzt was beginning to annoy of the wizard-cleric's habit of leading him off to some unknown destination with an amused smirk wrapped around his almost child-like face. The first time this happened, the night ended with Drizzt taking an arrow through the stomach and waking up three days later.

Now the eccentric drow was taking him deep into the woods in an invitation to speak to his dark god. Drizzt knew he should not be here. He should be back at the camp with the Auzcovyn…or finding the nearest temple of Mielikki and tearfully atoning for his sins. A small smile crept over his face at this absurd notion.

No, he thought, I need at least some answers. This is for the best regardless of the outcome.

Drizzt did not know how far they had walked. His legs, still slightly weakened from three days of disuse, began to ache slightly, though he knew the walk would do him good. Eventually, the brush became heavier, almost as if the trees were gathering against them. Drizzt saw less and less of the sky and eventually let his vision shift into the infrared spectrum as the brush covered all light. For some reason, he figured their destination was close.

They passed into a small clearing where the thick firs blocked out all sky over a wide expanse of marsh, the water almost glowing with a black incandescence that illuminated the trees. Mazn'reysla tread lightly on a few, small islands to other side of a large pool, his light footsteps not making any prints in the muddy grass. Drizzt looked into the water and saw the silhouetted shapes of fallen branches and the winding roots of a tree next to the marsh. The pool's bizarre aura seemed to radiate from every ripple of water and floating leaf; a sight both calming and unnerving at the same time.

"I only ask you to maintain an open mind and a willing heart," Mazn'reysla said at last.

Drizzt stared at him in a final moment of hesitation before nodding. The cleric smiled.

"I'm sure you will enjoy this," he said with a chilling laugh and a dance in his red eyes.

The priest slowly held his small hands over the pool and became chanting softly. The air radiated with power as a breeze blew strong through the brush. Drizzt shivered, and then looked at the pool. The shapes of branches and roots were covered by a rapidly spreading haze of inky blackness whose fingers gradually permeated through every ounce of water. The mist around Mazn'reysla thickened from his feet and gradually crawled up his body, his black half-mask now looking less like fabric and more like curling shadow around his closed eyes.

Shadowy tendrils rose up from the water and danced along the surface before slowly crawling into the air, gathering in the center and creeping up to form a pillar that rose to a modest height. The tendrils then formed the shape of a torso, then arms, legs, a head, and a mass of wild hair, gradually fading into high, black boots, form-fitting velvet trousers, a thin silk shirt, and a flowing cape of fine black velvet. The visible skin became rich ebony as bright gold hair and gold eyes shone around a drow's face covered by a blood-red half-mask.

Drizzt felt a shiver, knowing he was now in the presence of a powerful, otherworldly being, whose golden eyes fixed on him as a sneering smile formed on his youthful face. The being walked on top of the shadowy pool and slowly drew closer to him.

"Drizzt Do'Urden, we meet at last," the entity said, stepping off the pool and onto the grassy bank in front of Drizzt, who stepped back a pace.

Drizzt could hear the rush of blood through his eardrums, yet he made only a polite nod of recognition with an unimpressed expression, while keeping his body from trembling.

"Lord Vhaeraun, I presume," he said dourly.

Vhaeraun's grin widened as he walked around Drizzt, his golden eyes scanning every part of his form with a nod. Drizzt kept his own eyes locked on the avatar, feeling as if he was being appraised like a horse.

"An avatar on this plane, yes, though I am indeed he," Vhaeraun said, his eyes still scanning Drizzt's form. "And you are the one mortal with whom I have so eagerly awaited an audience."

"If you care to check my teeth, I would not protest," Drizzt said with a sneer.

Vhaeraun gave a chilling cackle, his hair and eyes fading to a shade of bright blue.

"You are a cocky one," he replied, facing Drizzt. "It is fortunate for you I find that an admirable quality. Also fortunate for you that I have come to take a liking to you over the years."

"And you visit me now," Drizzt said sarcastically. "It's a pity you never came to me in Menzoberranzan when I was still fresh. Now I'm rather stale, I probably not a very good ingredient for your stew."

"No, you are plenty ripe now and you know that. The little sprout that so wanted to wrap the world in a comforting shell is now a fully grown vine ready to tangle that world in its tendrils, only he doesn't know how. He doesn't know what powers he possesses, cannot control that which makes him who he is."

"And I am sure you are here to show me everything, how touching."

"Perhaps not. The reality might overwhelm you," Vhaeraun said leaning onto Drizzt's ear, "being a fragile mortal and all that fun business."

"I think I'm a tad bit more hardened, and you know that," Drizzt hissed. "If you know something about me that I do not, I demand answers."

Vhaeraun's eyebrows rose as his hair faded to green.

"You dare demand answers of me?" the avatar asked with a chuckle. "You are brave, or foolish, though obviously mad."

"Completely mad," Drizzt replied, his lavender eyes widening in emphasis.

A smug smile locked on to the avatar's face.

"Very well," Vhaeraun said, "though I am sure you will enjoy this."

In one rapid motion, two wicked looking shortswords were in each of his slender, ebony hands; one blade almost glowed with a silver light while the other was a substance of pitch blackness. The blades thrust and Drizzt with a blurring sweep of shadow, meeting Twinkle and Icingdeath the second they came forward with a long scream of metal. Vhaeraun disengaged at an impossible speed, his blades merely a blur of air, though the scimitars managed to parry their every blow.

Soon Drizzt caught somewhat of a rhythm amid the whirring shortswords and launched his own flurry of feints, powering his muscles on the rising surge of adrenaline and the growing passion of battle. Vhaeraun jumped up and flipped back with a thrust; though Drizzt flipped back to narrowly avoid the blades, though Vhaeraun never missed a beat. Drizzt jumped into the air, letting his powered muscles deliver him on the branch of a strong pine. Vhaeraun jumped up and almost floated behind him, though Drizzt spun around on one foot and met every blow.

Drizzt started closing in on the avatar, pushing him further to the trunk of the tree. Vhaeraun then placed both his feet on the trunk, grabbed a branch with one hand, and glided up the trunk, landing on the higher branch and jumping down making a cross slice. Drizzt shifted his weight on one foot and spun before jumping down, the black sword clipping a spike of hair. Vhaeraun came to the ground and Drizzt managed a clip at his shoulder, drawing a small trickle of the match's first blood. Vhaeraun gave a brief cackle before stepping behind Drizzt in a whoosh of motion. Drizzt stepped aside, only for Vhaeraun to make the same motion. Drizzt jumped and made a forward flip over the avatar and thrust down. Vhaeraun spun and got out of the way, though Drizzt scored another more significant slice in his shoulder.

Each fighter made his respective parry and feint, though Drizzt knew the avatar was not using his full strength. Vhaeraun had something planned, a trap into which Drizzt had willingly stepped. Whether or not he cared was another matter entirely.

Drizzt kept up the fast growing pace, savoring the burn in his muscles and the hot rush blood through his entire body. The passion rose with every quickened thrust of blades to meet those of this powerful entity. Then his mind quieted entirely and let his animalistic instinct take over his body and respond to the growing pace.

"You just want to taste my blood," his frenzied brain heard among the clang of swords and rush of blood through his eardrums. "I see the burn in your eyes; you just want to see the hot, flowing red so badly."

"Yes," Drizzt growled, thrusting and parrying against swirling air as he regarded the grinning face and blue eyes of his opponent.

Vhaeraun jumped backwards onto a high, fallen tree with Drizzt on the trunk a second later, his blades never leaving the shortswords. Vhaeraun slowly crept to the highest point of the tree near the exposed roots as Drizzt kept on him the whole way. Vhaeraun then did a spinning back flip off the tree with a swirl of shadow and landed on the ground. Drizzt jumped, fell for a second, and then landed on his feet to slice Twinkle into Vhaeraun's shoulder.

The avatar howled, though his blades kept in constant motion. His cry of pain erupted into a mass of chilling cackles as he glanced down briefly to see blood spurt from his arm, then trickle, then stop altogether. Drizzt sneered and charged back at him, only to miss his swords entirely, the feints were impossibly quick to the point where they were invisible. He growled and successfully parried Icingdeath against the silver blade. The black shortsword connected with the tip of the Twinkle, before it was repositioned in a blur and slammed against the center of the blade.

The force shattered the metal into tiny shards as the waves traveled down the length of Drizzt's wrist, which splintered with a sickening crack of bone. Drizzt gave loud, animalistic scream, lavender eyes burning with rage as he dropped the severed hilt among Twinkle's shattered remains and thrust Icingdeath at Vhaeraun's chest. The black blade parried it easily, before the silver blade made a blurred slice into the left side of Drizzt's face, metal slicing diagonally across the length of his lower jaw, cutting through all layers of flesh and scraping against bone. Drizzt raised Icingdeath again, only to watch in horror as the blade bent backwards, thrust into his shoulder, cleanly sliding between his collarbone and his ribcage, though completely avoiding his lung and any major blood vessels or nerves. The force of the thrust sent him flying against the wide pine, the blade protruding out the other side of his body and sticking deeply into the wood. Drizzt was pinned, yet kept a firm footing on the ground.

Vhaeraun sheathed his swords and almost floated to Drizzt with an enthused smile.

"You broke my blade," Drizzt said calmly among the many screams of pain that seemed to emanate from every part of his body.

"I can hear the blood rush through your veins," Vhaeraun said in a chilling tone, his hair turning gold, "the frenzy brewing in your brain. Your flesh is hot as your wounds cry, a searing burn just telling your body it wants more."

"I had that blade for a long time," Drizzt said, his voice quivering with a maddening laugh. "I had become rather fond of it."

"I am rather fascinated by the fragile, mortal form," Vhaeraun said, reaching down and grabbing Drizzt's shattered wrist, his hand closing tightly and setting some of the bones with a loud snap, though Drizzt barely flinched. "Others of my kind will see your fragile form as limiting, though such limited resources can inspire much creativity; so many different ways to push this frail form to amazing things without destroying it entirely, or at least not now."

Vhaeraun squeezed his hand again, setting more bones with a louder crack. Drizzt gave a sharp intake of air, yet he did find himself somewhat savoring the immense ache along with the surging blood through his body and the burn in his muscles; the greatest high he had ever known.

"Now you are a wonderful example, though I expected nothing less from you," Vhaeraun said, his free hand grabbing the handle of the scimitar and twisting slightly. The burn made Drizzt want to vomit, but he instead harnessed the energy in himself for the greater rush.

"This is your fuel, your hunger," Vhaeraun continued. "You live for passion, whether the heat of battle, the victory of a kill, or the warm flesh of a woman. Or perhaps…"

Vhaeraun's grin widened as he slowly removed his hand from the hilt and gently caressed down Drizzt's chest and stomach, one finger slowly making contact with his trouser strings. With a sudden burst of strength, Drizzt grabbed Vhaeraun's tunic with his pinned arm, and pulled him forward with a growl… before placing a passionate kiss on his lips, savoring the brief look of surprise in the avatar's eyes, before yanking him in closer. It was not a kiss of love or even control, but defiance mixed with decadent abandon; a gesture of his own surging power. Drizzt deepened the rough kiss, forcing his tongue between his lips and expecting it to be bitten off, though the avatar merely let out a muted laugh, opening his mouth and letting his own tongue dance along. Drizzt then pushed the avatar back several steps with a sneer, the fire in his shoulder burning more intense. The avatar looked amused as his hair faded to green.

"Now that was interesting," Vhaeraun said. "I am certainly impressed."

"Was it good for you too?" Drizzt said sweetly.

"It proves a point that so many have made about you since the day of your birth. This is who you are; the pleasure, the pain, all your true essence and motivating your every action. You are a creature of pure chaos and it is only now that you realize the full meaning of that."

"If you keep speaking in riddles I swear…"

"You will break from this tree, bend me over, and complete this little experiment? I doubt you would succeed, but it would be amusing to see you try."

The avatar grabbed his broken wrist again and gave another cracking squeeze, the hand becoming warm as the pain gradually melted as Drizzt felt the bones knitting. When the warmth subsided, Drizzt flexed his wrist, yet Vhaeraun kept his tight grasp as his other hand caressed Drizzt's wounded face, closing the wound yet leaving a deep, white scar.

"You wish for answers," the avatar said, his now-blue eyes locking with Drizzt's burning lavender orbs. "Answers to questions you yourself have denied for so long. Be willing to accept the chaos that is the very nature of your soul and open your mind to all possibilities."

"That has been my journey thus far," Drizzt said.

Vhaeraun pressed his cheek against Drizzt's.

"Are you willing to accept everything?" he sneered in a pointed ear.

"What do you have?" Drizzt replied.

Vhaeraun resumed his gaze into Drizzt's eyes. Drizzt's vision was at first focused on Vhaeraun's green eyes, before gradually fading into a mass of inky blackness. His entire consciousness was pulled into a warm haze and he had no sense of his surroundings. It was almost as if he became part of the shadows.

The shadows started to clear into images of inky pits lined with faerie fire and sticky webs. Grotesque looking spider creatures crawled around the webs, some resembling driders, others looking more like the stuff of nightmare complete with oozing pus, eyes all over the body, and barbs protruding from every ounce of dripping flesh. He could not count the number of pits in front of him, not could he count all the smoky beings being tied up screaming within the webs.

"The Demonweb Pits," he gasped, though his lips did not move.

Amid the scene of horror, a small, black form fell from the red sky. Drizzt took a better look at the figure and a chill ran through his body; it was the smoky form of a male drow infant, wailing with the cries of a newborn and flailing its shadowy limbs as if to explore a horrific world to which he had been cast. The babe fell, its crying stopped into almost a sound of laughing amusement, landing in the center of the pit and becoming entangled in the sticky web. A small brigade of spider demons scuttled forward, spinning it in silk like a new prey. The form of the infant took on a purple glow, its limbs slowly morphing into spindly legs as more sunk out from his soft flesh. His laughing stopped as his mouth became a set of mandibles, that produced a series of rapid chitters and clicks. The babe was now a small spider with a drow face, all the demons tending to it as if a mother spider attending to her hatchlings.

"Third born sons," a familiar voice said from the air, breaking Drizzt's momentary awe. "The Spider Queen called for their sacrifice, her tyranny in action. Their tiny bodies are torn apart and their souls come here. Most are turned into servitor demons; Lolth would never waste a valuable resource. Then there are those who serve a different purpose."

A faint nudge turned Drizzt's attention to another part of the pits, where another shadowy form of a drow infant crawled along the side, cooing and laughing happily as its tiny hands and feet maneuvered up the web as if it was a ladder. Then another spider demon scuttled over, wrapped its legs around the boy's tiny body, and lifted him up by a thread of silk, the two rising into the vast sky into nothingness.

"Once in a great while, she will order a Matron to resurrect a little soul and leave it as a foundling among the peasants or the merchant classes," the voice continued. "These boys will learn of their past through rather convenient means and either come to serve her absolutely, or they come to despise her. Regardless, they are the true bastards of the higher classes; the pieces left behind who will climb up her ladder and serve her purpose to the bane of the established order. If they actually work on the sidelines to cause true dissent, they live a little longer as her true agents of chaos until their purpose is served."

"Such was the case of my companion, I presume," Drizzt said, his lips still not moving.

"Ah yes, Jarlaxle Baenre: one of the Lolth's greatest agents of dissent, though he despises the Spider Queen with all his black heart. He cannot change his purpose, it is his unwilling birthright. I also assume he does not wish to either. He serves no one but himself; which is indeed a pity."

"So that was her plan for me?" Drizzt asked.

The shadows gradually thickened like smoke, blocking out the view of the pits and slowly fading into Vhaeraun's now red eyes. Vhaeraun pulled back, allowing Drizzt to look at the woods and regain his senses. He then grabbed the hilt of the scimitar and pulled it out. Drizzt steadied himself against the wave of agonizing pain, keeping his footing though leaning forward. Vhaeraun's hand keep him steady as a rush of warmth knitted the wound as he sheathed the sword in Drizzt's left scabbard.

"My mother is a tyrant who thrives on chaos as her control," Vhaeraun said softly. "For every order she gives to keep the drow under her spiny foot, she makes another to drive that order apart. Her hobby is collecting and creating anything that upsets the balance of her own society, the large grasshopper that gets caught in the fine web only to destroy it. Those things that amuse her most are those things that work to her favor that happen purely by accident, a creation of the primordial chaos; such as that one third born male who is seconds from sacrifice, only to be saved by an instant decision that sent another in his place. This male infant lives by circumstances even she could not control and therefore becomes a focus for her, a personal favorite. Like the stars or the position of the moon under which one might be born, his fate is determined by the circumstances under which he was allowed to live."

"So by default I am meant to be some kind of marauder?" Drizzt said. "I am fated to be a source of amusement for the Spider Queen? I don't believe that."

"You are the son and student of a powerful, dissident male who raised you with a hatred of your society. You also possess conscience and emotion that most drow cannot comprehend, yet you still bear the natural tendencies of your blood. Put this volatile little mix through adolescence and things become truly interesting; raging emotions, changing hormones? You have a few forces working against you already, my friend, only your own actions wrote the rest of the story. I don't think I need to list your many deeds, all acts that have disrupted the order of the drow and made the Spider Queen proud every time."

"But I fought her!" Drizzt snapped. "I killed her servants, destroyed her chapels! I always intended…"

"All the more brilliant! What better creature to serve her bidding than one who hates her most. Matrons scramble to sacrifice you first and weapon masters race each other to defeat you, leaving every remote ounce of order in Menzoberranzan shattered and all is left to war and complete chaos. Your little efforts on the side of 'goodness' played the part perfectly."

Drizzt paused and chewed this over with a disgusted look as so many things seemed to fall into place.

"By working against Lolth, I served her purpose," Drizzt sneered. "By serving good, I served evil."

"You became so tangled in the fallacy of mortals," Vhaeraun groaned. "You cannot comprehend all the forces at work in the universe, yet you need to give them nice, convenient names that shackle you into your own ideals: lies, truth; justice, injustice; good, evil; meaningless. Tyrants use these ideals to gather their sheep and keep them in line; a motivation that makes the highest Matron and the lowliest paladin equal in their intentions."

"The hypocrisy of my existence," Drizzt replied through gritted teeth as a burn rose in his chest. "I am sure Lolth is happy her pure son of chaos begins to see things her way."

"Ah, I see you are caught in a rather difficult situation, having been weaned on this propaganda of good and evil: the purest model of evil is the disgusting way of Menzoberranzan and model for good is everything opposing. Only now you realize that life of purity and goodness was the biggest lie you ever made to yourself, kept your true nature locked in a little cell until it finally burst out. Only it is that true nature that you have equated with the enemy, so where are you now?"

"My true nature is not like a son of Menzoberranzan," Drizzt hissed to the Masked God and to himself.

"Of course not," Vhaeraun said firmly, his hair and eyes fading to gold. "You believe in honor among your fellows, having even known friendship. You have at least some decorum in your more violent dealings, only putting the most deserving to the worst torture; bringing painful deaths upon those who exert their will because of who and what they are. You are a passionate creature who enjoys pleasures of the flesh, yet does not dominate for dominance sake. There are many like you, and all of you have a friend in the other planes who sees the same way."

"So is that the reasoning you will use so I will just jump to your side," Drizzt yelled. "Pardon me if I have come not to trust the gods very much; I have been a pawn in too many games of which I have grown tired."

"I dislike pawns immensely," Vhaeraun sneered, his hair and eyes fading to red. "I ask for brothers and sisters, not minions. They are counterproductive and they all harbor their own treachery. I prefer my flock to be a unified force."

"So what would you have me do to become one of your flock?" Drizzt asked sarcastically. "What kind of faithful service do you require, my Masked Lord?"

Vhaeraun's hair and eyes faded to green.

"Have your deeds encouraged drow males to leave their houses, Drizzt Do'Urden?" Vhaeraun asked. "Have you already proven yourself the biggest thorn in Menzoberranzan's side time and time again? Have you ever engaged in deception to serve your purpose, how about killed for money? I know the answer to all of these; so far you are doing some of the work even though you thought it was all in sport, or even in the name of some fruitless cause for goodness."

Drizzt's smile melted, his raging thoughts suddenly turning to his first years on the surface with old Montolio DeBroochie, the caring man who taught him the way of the ranger and introduced a cynical son of a drow priestess to the path of Mielikki. Drizzt never felt he had found his faith in the goddess, only the goddess was a name he could put to the feelings in his heart.

Now his heart had changed, seeing so many realities he had been blind to before. Now he walked a much different path; had he now found a deity who now shared that as well?

"I see I have struck a nerve," Vhaeraun continued.

"In the event that I do decide to call you my friend," Drizzt said with a deep sigh, his voice calming though still tense, "what could you offer me?"

"A focus for your chaos, something to keep you from tearing yourself apart," Vhaeraun said firmly, his face completely straight as his hair turned gold. "With me, you will find validation for all your innermost desires and actions, perhaps a motivation for continuing your fine job and finding other missions to satisfy your passions in a constructive way. I offer you companionship with others like you, a way for you to know your fellow drow as something other than an enemy while keeping your relevant allies whose races are different. Above all, I offer you protection."

Vhaeraun grabbed Drizzt's shoulders and pulled him forward.

"Lolth has returned from a long hiatus," the avatar whispered in his ear, "risen anew with an insatiable thirst for destruction and herding all her minions and favorites for her new plans. You are presently alone in the universe. Mielikki has cast you aside and you are without a deity to watch your interests, leaving you completely vulnerable to the machinations of her and her allies and defenseless to her whim. She will come for you again; her persuasion and demands stronger to the point where she will destroy you and all you remotely care for to further her tyranny and madness."

Drizzt looked up and saw Vhaeraun's hair turn red for a second, before returning to gold.

"Join me and you have an ally and a family of brothers and sisters who would kill and die to keep her from having her way. She may have a renewed vigor, but she and her minions are now more vulnerable. Ched Nasad was destroyed and Menzoberranzan is still weak. Thousands came to the surface during her absence, thousands now calling me their ally. I would like nothing more than one of the Spider Queen's most powerful enemies to wake up from his delusions of goodly grandeur and join a more fruitful cause."

Drizzt paused for a second to digest this information.

"You ask for me to ally myself with the lesser evil in order to serve a greater good?" Drizzt said with a creeping grin.

"Lolth isn't expecting one of her weapons to turn against her," Vhaeraun said, drawing back. "I am sure that is one turn of chaos she will not find so amusing."

"You make a favorable proposition," Drizzt said, "but I refuse to make hasty decisions."

Vhaeraun jumped back and gave another cackle.

"Fine, take your time," he said with a grin, though Drizzt figured he already had the answer.

Mazn'reysla then suddenly appeared beside the avatar of his god, a black bowl in his hand.

"I believe I have something that might help you think a little clearer," Vhaeraun said, giving the cleric a smiling nod in greeting while reaching into the bowl.

His slender hand came out clutching a black hilt with a dark garnet on the end. The blade was fully pulled into the air, revealing a finely forged adamantine scimitar.

"I think this might suit you hand better than that trinket from that group of addled wizards. This one can cause greater wounds on your opponents and summon shadow on a thought, much more useful than a blade with a pretty glow."

Vhaeraun presented the hilt to Drizzt, who took it with a firm grip and swung it around a few times to fully gauge its light, comfortable feel. With a grin, he slid it into his empty scabbard.

"I also give you a piece of friendly advice," Vhaeraun said. "You are still in the process of finding your true power. One of your traveling companions was once your mortal enemy, while your other companion is an agent of chaos who lives constantly looking out for the nearest opportunity to wipe up after you both. This is a rather volatile group."

"And contains some of the greatest friends I have ever known," Drizzt replied.

"Lolth would like nothing more than to see you all tear each other apart."

"What would you like to see?"

Vhaeraun merely smiled.

"The sun looms on the horizon," the avatar said. "The time of the drow has ended for one night. We shall meet again."

The avatar of Vhaeraun walked back to the water, his feet treading across the surface until he reached the center of the pool. He gave a deep, exaggerated bow, his wild, golden hair flopping in his golden eyes, before fading back into a mass of shadows and sinking back into the water. The shadowy tendrils sunk inward and gradually faded, leaving the marsh clear.

Mazn'reysla came closer to Drizzt with a look of anticipation.

"I thank you for this opportunity," Drizzt said lightly. "It has been most enlightening."

Mazn'reysla smiled.

"It is time for my Reverie," he said, bowing and turning back to the woods, fading into the trees.

Drizzt stood for a second in contemplation, staring into the black water and letting all the events of that evening play before his eyes. So much had happened, so many questions were answered, yet so much had yet to be said. He smiled, blew a kiss to the pool, and turned down the path from which he had come. The canopy gradually thinned, revealing a purple sky turning redder by the second. He paused, and looked upwards to see the sky turning orange as the bright orb was visible through the eastern trees.

With a relieved sigh, Drizzt continued through the wood, the path becoming clearer as a slow rise noise came from the lingering residents of the village. Amid the soft conversations, he heard a pair of familiar voices in the short distance accented by the ring of clashing blades. With a devilish smirk, he crept through the brush, swinging through the occasional low fir until he was a foot away from the human and the outrageously attired drow. Neither of them noticed his presence until Charon's Claw rang against a black hilted scimitar instead of a longsword.

Entreri gave a brief look of surprise before narrowing his gaze and raising his dagger in a thrust. Jarlaxle stepped aside and gave Drizzt room to parry the small blade with Icingdeath.

"Well, well, well," Jarlaxle said, interrupting the match, "it is very good to see you join us at last."

"All apologies, _Malla Valuk_," Drizzt said with a bow, "but I was on…"

"A diplomatic mission," Entreri and Jarlaxle added in unison.

Jarlaxle said a command word that shrunk his swords to the size of daggers, which were carefully tucked in his belt. He gave a brief look at Drizzt before doing a double-take and grabbing his jaw, pulling him forward.

"What in the Nine Hells happened to you?" the mercenary asked, his right index finger tracing the length of the new scar along Drizzt's jaw.

"He tore your tunic as well," Entreri added in a matter-of-fact manner, coming forward with a raised eyebrow of slight curiosity.

"I got into a little fight," Drizzt said, drawing Jarlaxle's hand back.

"Now that was not very diplomatic," Jarlaxle said, "though that scar makes you look dashing."

"He does nothing for me," Entreri said with a smirk.

Drizzt laughed and raised his blades, squaring off with Entreri for a few seconds before lunging forward, his new blade meeting Charon's Claw and Icingdeath meeting the jeweled dagger. The two continued to engage blades, but with smiles and light taunts as Jarlaxle leaned against a tree and watched with a grin.

"Now where is your other blade?" Jarlaxle asked Drizzt in a tone of mock scolding. "In the same place where you gained this new one? While that is a rather nice scimitar, I hope we can take our time to leave this wonderful land and not run out with thirty nasty dark elves on our tails."

"Don't worry; it was nothing of the sort," Drizzt said, dodging a swipe from Charon's Claw. "This one is so much more comfortable. So you have made plans for our departure?"

"'Our departure?' You have not decided to take the mask, spend your days in the woods with your fellows?" Jarlaxle asked.

"That wasn't exactly my plan," Drizzt replied, the shadow blade crashing against the dagger. "I was about to ask the same of you."

"We leave at moon rise," the mercenary replied firmly.

"Where are we going now?" Drizzt replied, jumping back from the path of Charon's Claw.

"Down the road," Entreri added, parrying Icingdeath with his dagger.

"Just 'down the road?'" Jarlaxle asked with a hint of incredulity. "I swore you wanted to go to Calimport?"

"And where in the Hells did you get that impression," the assassin replied, dodging Icingdeath.

"Didn't you mention it just an hour ago?"

"I said I wondered how much things there had fallen apart. I never said I wanted to actually see it."

"Aren't you a wanted man there?" Drizzt asked, engaging in a small flurry of feints.

"Not wanted," Entreri replied, blocking with both blades, "just strongly disliked."

"That was a long time ago," Jarlaxle added. "Regardless of where we decide to scamper, I will assume you will be joining us. I'm rather pleased to see your little near-death experience did not give you the inspiration to sit back and enjoy your flesh."

"You are mad," Drizzt said, spinning out of the dagger's reach. "Do you seriously think I would pass up the opportunity to do more damage with you two idiots for a simple love of my flesh?"

Entreri jumped forward and found a small opening, holding his dagger half an inch from Drizzt's neck. Drizzt looked down at the blade, and then at Entreri, who gave him a dirty smirk. With a bored sigh, he tapped the blade away with Icingdeath and began another series of feints.

Pass up the opportunity, indeed.

Next chapter: the conclusion to "The Lesser Evil."


	13. Epilogue: The Rogue Kings

**The Lesser Evil**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Epilogue: The Rogue Kings**

The stone double doors to Bruenor's throne room opened. At once, various conversations about Mithril Hall business, strategies against the Kingdom of Many-Arrows, and general conversations about the upcoming cold weather ceased into a chilling silence. The eyes of Bruenor, Regis, Wulfgar, Stumpet, and an array of other dwarves turned towards the two grim-faced wood elves that entered the large throne room; one was a female with long brown hair adorned with a few hanging braids, the other was a male with long red hair pulled back in a ponytail. The fair creatures were all clad in simple leather armor and attire appropriate for the woodlands. All were simply armed, yet one carried a mid-sized wooden box in his hands.

"Me king," the cleric Cordio Muffinhead said, coming in front of the elves, "we have some unexpected visitors. They came here right from Cormanthor with some serious business they to talk over with ye. It can't wait."

Bruenor rose and gave a small bow, though his grizzled face showed some trepidation at this sudden arrival.

"Well met," Bruenor said hesitantly. "So what brings ye all from Cormanthor?"

"I apologize if our arrival has caused you any inconvenience, your majesty," a female elf said, bowing low and coming before the group. "I am Milae Winlir and this is my partner Aden Naitheil. Both of us have been sent as envoys from the elven court to deliver information of great interest to Mithril Hall. Before I give you our news, I wish to know the whereabouts of your dark elf companion Drizzt Do'Urden, if I may."

The room's occupants all gave each other nervous glances. Bruenor shrugged his broad shoulders.

"I couldn't tell you exactly where he is," the king said. "The elf likes to go wanderin' and since me girl…" his voice trailed off for a second as he winced at the sudden memory before regaining his composure, though the elves nodded in understanding, "…his wife was killed he needed to get out. We haven't seen him five months."

The wood elves exchanged glances, their faces even more grim.

"King Bruenor," Milae continued, her voice strained, "my kin and I have been defending our home, the oft beleaguered court of Cormanthor, against our ancient foes the dark elves; savage worshippers of the evil god Vhaeraun who vie to control our beloved land. We have come to call your ranger companion a friend, if only by reputation if not by witnessing his deeds. A tenday ago, we were scouting out Vhaeraunite strongholds with a small collective of human rangers when we found this on the ground."

Aden came forward bearing the wooden box. Milae slowly removed the thin cover and pulled back a sheet of green silk. A collective gasp rose among the group. Regis put a hand to his mouth as Bruenor's jaw slowly dropped. Carefully laid in a shroud was a collection of many metal fragments. Lying on top of the shards was the severed hilt of a scimitar with a large sapphire in the pommel.

"Our ranger companions have worked beside Drizzt Do'Urden before and immediately identified this as one of his blades," Aden said.

Wulfgar came forward and examined the shards, picking them up and noting the elven script that identified the blade as Twinkle.

"You found this on the ground in dark elf territory?" Wulfgar stated more than asked, looking back at his father Bruenor, whose face bore a look of steadily building rage, and Regis, whose mouth hung open with a helpless gaze.

"There was a battle in that location," Milae said. "The tracks indicate it was two of elf-kind who fought. There was also a large pine tree with large trail of dried blood running down the trunk like pitch; a deep notch in the bark above the blood trail indicated a blade the width of a scimitar."

"S-so he bested his opponent," Regis sputtered in a tone of nervous insistence. "Is there any way you could get us some pieces of the bark? We have a close ally who is a very skilled alchemist, a gnome named Nanfoodle. We can probably find an old piece of Drizzt's clothing with at least one small speck of his blood and I am sure he can compare the two."

"I am sure we can get you a chunk of that bark," Milae said. "The drow have been less stationary so it should be a relatively simple task. I will return to Cormanthor and we shall be back shortly."

"Bruenor, this may also be a matter for Lady Alustriel," Wulfgar said in almost the same desperate tone as Regis, rushing to the king's side. "We could send word and she could possibly lend some soldiers from Silverymoon to escort the elves through this hostile land and perhaps look for information on Drizzt."

"Good thinkin'," Bruenor barked, pointing a finger at the elves. "I'll fetch the gnome and I'm sure the elf must've left somethin' behind. Meantime, Cordio, send a letter to Silverymoon. I'm sure the Lady'll want to help."

Bruenor and the wood elves discussed their plans to find if Drizzt had indeed been in Cormanthor. In the meantime, Regis slipped from the room and ran down the hall letting out a few panicked whimpers, this sudden news too much to bear. There had to be a decent explanation as to how Drizzt's blade found its way into hostile territory, Regis thought; Drizzt had joined his fellow rangers in a fight against his vile kin where he walked away victorious. Maybe Twinkle was taken from him under some unique circumstances like Aegis-Fang was taken from Wulfgar during his drunken stupor in Luskan.

All these thoughts passed through the halfling's head as his quick step finally ended in front of Drizzt's room. He pushed the door open and stood still for a second, his eyes scanning the simple bed with a blanket of direwolf fur pulled neatly over. A brown, leather travel sac hung from a wooden peg and various short garlands of dried herbs hung from the wall. The sudden revelation was like being hit by a river of cold water, making the halfling close his eyes and shudder.

Drizzt should be here, he thought. He should be in Mithril Hall, sitting on his bed, exchanging some grand tale with a huge smile.

It was a pleasing image Regis hoped to see when he opened his eyes, only to reveal a cold empty room. Drizzt Do'Urden was not there, not since that horrible day his grief and anger overcame him after the meeting in Bryn Shander's council house. Kemp of Targos accused Drizzt of killing his wife and taunted him for his heritage. Unable to bear too much more abuse, he snapped and savagely beat the councilor with the pommel of his scimitar. Regis now wished he had run after his friend, instead he stood and glared at Drizzt like all the other councilors, silently condemning him and saying nothing as Elderman Cassius banished Drizzt from the town that he loved. Regis knew he should have at least done something, but he instead watched at Drizzt faded from view. That was five months ago.

He remembered accompanying the councilors to the nearby healer's house, where Kemp was put in a bad and given excellent care. An hour later, heavy steps sounded from the hall and Bruenor burst in the room.

"Damned orc-headed fools!" Bruenor had yelled to the councilors who stood beside Kemp's bed side as the spokesman groaned from his injuries. "This is what you get when you beat a horse, ye don't be too surprised when it hauls off and bucks ye. Ye know what'll happen now; a hunnerd years from now and a hunnerd years after that when ye're all in your graves and ye're grandkids are fightin' off some kind of new beastie, that elf'll still be kickin' around and'll leave ye all to fight it yerself 'cause he'll be rememberin' the warm hospitality he got from all you fools."

Regis never joined in Bruenor's tirade, for secretly he felt Drizzt had betrayed them all. It was revealed during the council meeting that Drizzt had been keeping a correspondence with Jarlaxle and crossed paths with the drow mercenary and his companion, the vile assassin who still haunted Regis' nightmares, where Catti-brie died. Drizzt later defended them in front of a council of goodly townspeople: two thoroughly evil individuals praised as heroes by a supposedly decent warrior. Bruenor never seemed to care about this revelation, though he never seemed to care about anything since his daughter was killed. He did passionately defend Drizzt's innocence.

"If I thought for a second Drizzt'd had anythin' to do with me girl's death," the dwarf yelled after returning to the caves, "I'd still be wipin' elf brains off me axe."

Regis never believed Drizzt killed Catti-brie. They were two best friend and lovers meant for each other, and her death created a pit of despair in Drizzt's fragile heart. The halfling knew this, yet his own grief mixed with Drizzt's betrayal made him follow close behind Bruenor that afternoon after he was summoned back to Mithril Hall, a part of him hoping the drow would never show.

He got his wish, a wish he regretted making. Stumpet came to Mithril Hall three days after their arrival, coming before Breuenor with a pained look; one hand bore a note from Drizzt, the other clutched Guenwhyvar's figurine.

"…we will all meet again in happiness in this world or the next," Drizzt had written. "Until that day, I will find the happiness that has been destroyed in my soul and may you all find the same."

Regis remembered taking Guenwhyvar's figurine into his room, summoning the panther, burying his head in her warm fur, and sobbing violently. In the midst of one of the most horrible periods of his life, Drizzt had vanished, leaving behind that heartbreaking note while giving up his closest companion. Drizzt already had a history of taking reckless, almost suicidal actions under great duress. Regis wept loudly, knowing that he may never see his friend alive again. He went through five months of guilt, everyday hoping that Drizzt had pulled out of his blackness; a blackness for which he felt partially responsible. Not one of the Companions had shown their dark elf friend any true sympathy or condolences for the loss of his wife, Regis recalled. After watching the love of his life die and living without the support of his closest companions, Drizzt Do'Urden may have taken actions to end his own life.

This latest discovery seemed to confirm that deep fear, though Regis held on to hope. He broke from his sad recollection and ran for the plain wooden dresser on the other side of the room, pulling out drawers and rooting through every compartment, tears flowing as he tossed aside neatly folded tunics and rolled belts mixed with small trinkets from other lands. The stale cotton and musty leather still bore the strong scent of fresh woods and many campfires mingled with the slightly pungent hint of perspiration, creating the eerie effect of his friend's presence, though he himself was long gone. At last Regis found a brown tunic crumpled in the corner of a bottom drawer with a small circle of dried blood on the left shoulder. The halfling gave a cracked howl of victory as he scooped up the tunic and ran from the room.

Milae returned to Cormanthor as Nanfoodle was summoned from Mirabar. A few days later, the wood elf maiden returned with a large chunk of bark soaked in dried blood, which was given to the gnome, who set up a laboratory in one of Mithril Hall's lower levels and conducted various experiments comparing the consistency of the blood on the bark to the blood on the shirt. In the meantime, word of Drizzt's plight their old friend Lady Alustriel in Silverymoon, who dispatched a few scouts to join the rangers in finding anyone matching Drizzt's description.

It was the first time anyone had heard any news on Drizzt and the company kept hope that this new discovery would lead them to finally reuniting with their missing friend. Regis even overheard Bruenor telling Stumpet his plans for a grand homecoming celebration. The atmosphere of hope lasted for two tendays, yet more information drained all the hope left.

Nanfoodle came back to Bruenor with his findings, his small head bowed and his voice strained. After conducting thirty-two different alchemical experiments, all tests indicated that the blood on the bark had the exact same composition as the blood stain on Drizzt's tunic. The situation looked grim, yet the residents of Mithril Hall eagerly awaited the arrival of the scouts from Cormanthor who hopefully possessed some answers.

A tenday later, Milae and Aden returned to Mithril Hall followed by three Silverymoon rangers joined by Lady Alustriel herself. All gathered in Bruenor's throne room for the final word.

"I am afraid we do not bring any good tidings," Senialin, a moon elf from Silverymoon said, his angled face held high but his green-gold eyes heavy. "There is no specific word of Drizzt Do'Urden's living presence in woods or the remains of the elven court, yet matters have become significantly worse. The drow of Cormanthor have become more powerful against their enemies. The two main factions of Vhaeraun worshippers, the Auzcovyn Clan and House Jaelre, have been allying more frequently. Their strategy is stronger and their tactics more savage as there has been more and more horror brought against the goodly folk. Rumors speak that both factions now have an outside source in their war, a drow warrior only known as The Rogue Prince; a devout follower of Vhaeraun, a brilliant strategist, and a savage fighter. Rumors says he may appear for everything from a few days to plan strategy and make sacrifices to his dark god or merely a few hours to slaughter small groups of rangers before vanishing. Our allies have been amassing, yet most have been slaughtered swiftly."

"Three of my bravest warriors fell in the fray," Lady Alustriel said in a strained tone. "I am afraid that, combined with the evidence we have already collected…" her voice trailed off as her beautiful face twisted into a look of pain.

"Drizzt likely joined with the rangers," Wulfgar said, voice rising as his face twisted into anger, "and fought with one of the drow, possibly The Rogue Prince himself, and fell. Is that your reasoning?"

"The side of a tree was bathed in blood that has been alchemically identified as his," Milae added with a long sigh. "The Vhaeraunites are just as bloodthirsty as their Underdark kin. The enemies they don't slaughter outright will be detained and tortured until their deaths. Regardless, Drizzt likely never left that wood."

Wulfgar gave a loud growl and kicked the wall. Bruenor sat back in his throne, putting his head in his hand with a stunned expression.

"So that's it," the king barked. "There ain't nothin' more ye can do."

"We searched all we could," Senialin said in a tone of desperation, "The situation has become too dangerous for another mission. It has been two months since Drizzt's blade was discovered and he could have fallen months before. That leaves little other options."

The room fell silent, the quiet only broken by a few rising gasps and sobs. Bruenor remained expressionless, while Wulfgar steadied himself against wall. Regis slowly sat on the floor, burying his head in his hands as every muscle quivered.

"He went for one last opportunity to prove himself," Regis said softly, though all ears present listened, "though he knew it would be his end; one last mission to end his pain forever and protect the goodly folk from his vile kin."

After a second of horrible silence, Regis burst into a series of painful sobs.

Two tendays later, when the shock of the news had fully set in, the dwarven crafters set to work. A fortnight after, the surviving Companions of the Hall gathered in the Hall of Dumathoin, where the weapons and armor of warrior's past were displayed in tribute to Mithril Hall's history. A stone pillar was erected beside the one displaying Taulmaril, whose string was nocked with a heat-seeking arrow that would never be fired. Bruenor took the shards of Twinkle from the box and carefully mounted them on the fresh-cut stone, the fragments making the shape of a shattered scimitar blade above the sapphire hilt. Bruenor stopped for a second, tears streaming down his red beard as he looked at the shards.

"Me boy," he said in a faint whisper.

Wulfgar stood in reverent silence, his large hand over Regis' shoulder and his mind filled with memories of all the time spent with his best friend and mentor; all the battles, all the talks, and all the times of happiness all mixed with a strong sense of guilt over never getting a real chance to say goodbye. Regis also washed in his memories, his heavy eyes scanning the elven script carved in the stone, words from a parchment the wood elves left, requesting the crafter to carve in as a final memorial:

"Here lie the shards of Twinkle, the blade of Drizzt Do'Urden: brave warrior, caring friend, and determined fighter for goodness; born 1296 DR, died 1373 DR."

The memorial was simple, a tribute to a heroic warrior who would want to have been remembered for his deeds in life and not fawned over after death. Regis sniffed and allowed a few soft words escape his sobs:

"I hope you found your happiness as last, Drizzt Do'Urden."

0000000000

Artemis Entreri pulled his cowl of his tattered cloak further over his head as he crouched further against the slimy wall in the deepest section of the alleyway, making him look not too different from the average unfortunate on the streets of Baldur's Gate, if he was seen at all. He peeked from the fabric and brushed aside a loose strand of black hair to see the alley unoccupied; nothing but piles of garbage mingled with the corpses of rats and the cats that had savored their last meal. It was a busy evening in the port city as many different people passed by the alley, yet no one seemed too interested in what happened inside.

Then there was that one man who wore a cloak that was supposed to look tattered, but the rich, blue-black color gave away his true station. The wealthy merchant looked around the street before subtly ducking into the alley. Entreri's trained eyes then noticed the shadows from the buildings rising behind the man, a dark hand wielding a shining, silver dagger shooting out from the blackness and embedding into the base of his spine. Lightening then built from a large, round piece of clear quartz on the pommel, shooting up the blade and into the merchant; the man's hair standing on end as his muscles seized. He stood up, though his clearly dead body was propped to a stand by the darkness itself. The shadow dragged him further into the alley and dropped his corpse on the ground, though not before slender black hands took his purse and a few ruby rings. The shadow took more of a humanoid shape as dark hands pulled pieces of garbage and cat corpses over the merchant's scrawny frame and face, which was dripping with sweat as a trail of foaming saliva poured from the mouth; eyes wide open in a final moment of surprise.

Entreri nodded in approval, and then slowly rose, walking towards the other end of the alley with the shadowy form following at an inconspicuous distance. He rounded a corner, walking down another alley before stopping at a spot on the wall and placing the back of his right index finger inside a crack in the brick, a signet ring on his finger glowing. He then leaned against the wall, his small form passing through the bricks as he entered a stone hallway where a series of torches lit automatically. Entreri looked back to see the mass of shadow passing through the wall and following him. Then, the shadows slowly dissipated as they were sucked into the deep red garnet on the pommel of a scimitar, a new blade Entreri knew had been recently named WraithKiss, gradually revealing Drizzt Do'Urden clad in all black; leather trousers, high boots, and a leather vest, covered by a fine velvet cloak. He pulled back the hood of his cloak and pulled off the tie in his hair, letting the short fringe tumble down over his scarred, ebony face, lavender eyes shining through a black leather half-mask.

The two continued silently down the hall in Bani Pilazi's guild house, a relatively small building that was home to one of the fastest growing thieves' guilds in Baldur's Gate. Legend had it that Pilazi was once a lieutenant of Pasha Pook's in Calimport, before a series of ill deeds resulted in the master thief having a price put on his head as he ran to Baldur's Gate, where he formed his own successful guild. Pilazi was now an old and paranoid recluse who only made contact through a series of missives, who all had their own agendas. He did make outside contact once four months earlier when he heard his old friend and associate Artemis Entreri was traveling through Baldur's Gate, personally offering him and his two companions jobs in the guild; if only to keep the notoriously shifty Entreri and his two dark elf associates on a short leash while exploiting their talents.

Entreri's gaze fell on the walls still marveling at where this journey had taken him so far. It had not been the company's intention to stay in one place for too long, but the series of events in Cormanthor humbled them all. While Drizzt was understandably the most effected, it seemed Entreri and Jarlaxle were also reeling from the impact of their previous retreat, though neither cared to think on the reasons. Regardless, the three found their wanderlust sorely lacking. After a month of traveling, they took what was intended to be a brief respite in Baldur's Gate before they were given the perfect opportunity to rest with some steady work; steady work that became a perfect business venture.

Pilazi used the three as his own assistants, hardly noticing when the three shrewd mercenaries began taking over the major operations of the guild and pocketing much coin. While the old thief rested on his supposed laurels, Entreri had essentially become guild master, handing out assignments and overseeing affairs under the authority of a lieutenant, yet working with the power of a master. Jarlaxle acted as his silent partner, though Entreri arranged matters so this project would not be another feather in Bregan D'aerthe's hat, rendering him as merely a human front; though Jarlaxle's interest in his own mercenary band seemed to wane.

Drizzt seemed to take a less ambitious role in the operations of the guild. Instead he focused much more attention on his various military and spiritual pursuits in Cormanthor, where he visited frequently using a teleportation wand his cleric friend Mazn'reysla had given him before their departure. Drizzt did maintain an active role in the guild, mostly acting as an internal enforcer who rooted out potential treacheries through spying and torture while eliminating assassins who had become too sloppy in their work.

Drizzt himself was serving an informal apprenticeship under Entreri to learn the subtle trade of the assassin, an apprenticeship Entreri personally arranged after their initial arrival in the guild. Entreri never wanted to take students before, but he was making an exception this time. Drizzt Do'Urden was already a swordsman of legendary talent. It would help if the unstable drow learned some discipline; making him achieve a respect for the act of killing as opposed to merely doing it out of light sport. The idea of teaching his formerly good enemy such a dark art held its own appeal as well. So far, all efforts seemed to work for both parties.

Drizzt and Entreri continued down the hall until they reached a plain wooden door. Entreri placed his signet ring against the knob. The latch clicked and the door swung open on its own accord. The two walked through, Entreri closing the door, which automatically locked, as they walked into Pilazi's main office, a large, stone room adorned with a large oak desk, a few tattered chairs, and a few tall shelves storing many books and parchments. Entreri removed his tattered cloak and threw it on a nearby chair before fixing his gaze on Drizzt, arms folded and head up.

"Well," Drizzt said, removing his mask and placing it in a small pouch in his belt, "What have I pleased my master."

Entreri nodded in contemplation. Over the four months of his training, Drizzt quickly learned that Entreri was a hard teacher. The veteran assassin never gave actual praise and was quick to respond to mistakes with taunts and barks. Drizzt couldn't help but compare his current teacher to a master at Melee-Magthere, only Entreri merely threatened his life after a snide retort or fouled-up blow while a master would have killed him outright. Drizzt knew his skills were improving when the hard words became less frequent and venomous, though he never expected to be treated any differently. The fact Artemis Entreri was actually insistent on taking him as a student in the first place was compliment enough.

"You took the whelp down a little too close to the mouth of the alley," Entreri said evenly, "where anyone who cared could have seen something suspicious."

The veteran assassin then fell silent. Drizzt's mouth curled in a small smirk.

"In other words a satisfactory performance," the dark elf said.

Entreri glared at him before biting his lip and giving a slow, reluctant nod while rolling his dark eyes with a sigh.

"I will supervise your next two missions," he said at last. "If you fail to raise my ire both those times, you will take on a solo assignment."

Drizzt nodded, the smirk still plastered on his face.

"Just don't get too cocky," Entreri sneered as he sat down in the velvet chair that seemed too big for his small frame.

"Are we finished?" Drizzt asked. "I have another errand I need to run."

"Yes, we are finished," Entreri groaned, rubbing his face with one hand and sorting through a pile of loose parchment on the desk with the other. "Jarlaxle insists we meet him at Smith's Tavern before midnight."

"Ah yes, the bar wenches put on a little dance there," Drizzt said gleefully, "the best selection in town."

"If you are such a connoisseur of the female flesh, you might want to expand your horizons beyond cheap tavern whores," the human said, dipping a quill in a nearby inkwell. "Gods know you can afford it."

"Oh, do you have any other suggestions?"

Entreri smiled while making a few notes on a parchment.

"I remember in Calimport, I was so popular among the pashas that they allowed me access to their respective harems. These were elegant, sophisticated women, Do'Urden, not filthy wenches who can't make coin any other way."

"So if you do follow up on your grumblings and return to Calimport with a shred of dignity, you will put in a good word for me?"

"Or I could just introduce you to a certain noble client of ours here who just happens to be the madam of a rather successful yet highly exclusive gentlemen's club."

"You are too kind. And I promise I won't tell Jarlaxle."

"I would appreciate that greatly."

The two looked at each other, exchanging knowing smiles before Drizzt bowed, opened the door, and left the room, closing the self-latching door behind him.

He walked down the corridor, his stomach churning in tense anticipation of his next task; the finalization of a grueling extended project he just wanted over with. The corridor stopped in a dead end. Drizzt knocked against the brick wall in three evenly spaced beats. The wall faded to reveal a dark stairwell. He descended the stairs until he reached a deep tunnel leading under the streets. A few sharp turns later, he reached another door. Drizzt then reached into his belt, producing his mask and putting it over his face as he gave a rhythmic pattern of a knock against the door. The door then opened, a male human in a black half mask lined with red fringe bowing in greeting.

"Good evening, Master Do'Urden," the priest of Mask, the dark god of rogues, said. "We have been expecting you."

Drizzt nodded, walking through and letting his gaze fix on the large space with a low. The walls were adorned with various mounded weapons and silver holders adorned with black taper candles. Various red cushions adorned the floor facing a plain altar adorned with a red cloth and various silver bowls used for offerings and sacrifices. The room was empty, but Drizzt knew that Baldur's Gate's temple of Mask was always teeming with hidden beings as the temple was the perfect place for rogues of various disciplines to meet and exchange schemes. The clerics had also set up a private room off to the side as a chapel to their allied deity Vhaeraun, where Drizzt and the sparse number of drow traders in the city could pay homage to their god when business took them away from the temples in places like Cormanthor.

"My prince," a melodious female voice said from the side of the room, "it is so good to see you again."

Drizzt turned towards the voice and smiled wide.

"Milae, my friend," he said, walking towards the brown-haired wood elf coming toward him.

The two embraced and Drizzt looked up to see Milae's lover and companion Aden emerging from a side room followed by Mazn'reysla in his clerical garb.

"Well, well," Drizzt said, bowing to the priest of Vhaeraun, "It is like a small party here. What brings you to Baldur's Gate, friend."

"Completing the alliance between our temples," Mazn'reysla said.

"It is a happy day when the children of Mask and the children of Vhaeraun can unite in friendship," the human cleric said, before disappearing into another back room.

"Indeed," Drizzt said with a laugh, his attention falling back on the two wood elves; two of his allies from Cormanthor who were expert liars and thieves capable of making themselves anyone's friend . "So, is my little problem solved?"

"I have to give you credit on that inscription you conjured up," Milae said. "How does it feel to write your own eulogy?"

Drizzt tried to hold back his pained expression. A part of him felt guilty for putting his old companions through such pain, though he knew he made the right decision

"I think Jarlaxle is rubbing off on me in more ways than I care to admit." He replied, forcing a smile. "Perhaps I have developed a flair for the dramatic."

"It was a fabulously directed performance," Aden added. "You managed to convince your former fellows of your own death while testing Cormanthor's defenses against outside forces, even baiting the Lady of Silverymoon herself into sending test subjects."

"King Bruenor and Queen Alustriel are all wise and powerful," Drizzt said, his voice becoming grave as the pained expression returned, "yet they have their weak points, all of which I have witnessed personally. Only they all turned out more predictable and gullible than I gave them credit for, which does sadden me, though it accomplishes our goals. Hopefully, more of the neighboring powers will learn that our people are not to be trifled with."

"Given the amount of grief your plan has inflicted on your former fellows, I must speculate that your original split from King Bruenor must have been rather acrimonious," Milae said. "That or you simply wanted to see them suffer."

"It was never a matter of either," Drizzt said to the elves and to himself, his gaze fixing on the altar as he gave a pained sigh. "In fact there was nothing but truth in those words I had inscribed on that memorial. For all parties concerned, Drizzt Do'Urden, the hero of the land, is dead. I would rather my former companions put my memory to rest instead of finding what they will term a vile being in need of eliminating in the body of an old friend."

"The flesh may live," Mazn'reysla added with a small smile, "but the death of the soul screams to the gods."

"By physical definition I am alive, though in many other ways I am dead," Drizzt replied. "A friend of mine told me that and I couldn't agree more."

"Well, the message has most certainly spread," Milae said. "I guess that chapter of your life is completely closed."

Drizzt smiled and gave a small chuckle.

"Yes indeed it is," he said, suddenly feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I thank you both for your efforts."

Drizzt reached into another pouch on his belt and produced a small sack of gems he handed to Aden.

"It was the least we can do, my Rouge Prince," the elf replied, putting the sack in his own belt. "You have aided our people in so many ways it was fitting to do you a favor in appreciation."

"I hate to end this little gathering," Drizzt said, "but I promised my Rogue King an audience for some feasting and merriment. I will see both of you delightful faeries at Xalryln's birthday party, right?"

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Milae said with a dirty laugh. "It will be a night that will be talked about for centuries."

"Speaking of Xalryln," Mazn'reysla said, "he gave me a little message to relay to you. It seems Jezz the Lame is begging for another audience with you."

"So now you are drinking buddies with the leader of House Jaelre," Aden said with a smile. "You must indeed be charismatic enough to get an invitation from that stubborn bastard to sample his homebrewed ale?"

"You mean that steaming concoction with a taste not far from a substance squeezed from the back end of a dead rothé?" Drizzt added, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Tell him I await his formal invitation."

He then bowed and walked towards the passageway, the cleric of Vhaeraun and the two wood elves responding with the same. Soon, he passed through the door and walked down the corridor towards a night of merriment with his companions.

00000000

"There have been a few rather curious rumors floating around about you, Jarlaxle," Kimmuriel Oblodra said, leaning back in the luxurious red velvet chair in Jarlaxle's room. His keen eyes observed the surroundings and noted how the human's guild had housed him well.

"Since when hasn't there been," Jarlaxle replied merrily, spreading his belt out on the red-blanketed bed and straightening the various compartments. "So what are the gossips saying about me this time?"

The mercenary captain was naked to the waist and bare-footed, his large plumed hat next to the belt. This was the most casual attire Kimmuriel, his friend and co-captain of Bregan D'aerthe had seen him wear in a long while. The drow psionicist's gaze fell to a black gemmed pendant that fell on Jarlaxle's toned ebony chest, wondering what magic was held inside this recently acquired trinket.

"Some people are saying you have been making a few appearances to the blasphemous renegades in Cormanthor," the psionicist said. "Speculation is you have been doing some spy work, while the more dramatic tales say you are recruiting a select group of rogues for another mercenary band, a surface Bregan D'aerthe perhaps."

Jarlaxle gave a loud belly laugh.

"Dear Lolth, the gossips are getting creative," he replied. "I take that as a compliment. Maybe my next move will be to establish my own kingdom of renegade males. No, I hate to disappoint them, but I do not have such a grand scheme in mind."

Not right now, at least, he thought, though it was not as if the thought hadn't come to him on several occasions.

Since their first trip to the Auzcovyn five months ago, Jarlaxle saw a group of fellows in his own flesh. Drizzt's increasing involvement with the clan resulted in a few invitations for him and the human to take part in secular events or occasionally visit their admirers. The idea of organizing a surface band was intriguing and possible, especially since he already considered Drizzt his surface lieutenant, who would make an excellent co-captain of such an operation. Unfortunately, connecting Bregan D'aerthe to a band of Vhaeraun worshippers would be astronomically dangerous for both him and his soldiers. The fact he was keeping frequent company with a Vhaeraun worshipper in the first place already endangered his position in Menzoberranzan, even his life if news of such a discovery reached the ears of the Matrons; a possibility that opened up so many other favorable options that he would have to act on later.

"I am glad to see you finally doing well for yourself," Kimmuriel continued. "Controlling a human thieves' guild, even claiming some sizable rewards."

The psionicist motioned towards the pendant on Jarlaxle's neck.

"Oh, this is just a little souvenir from a previous mission," Jarlaxle replied, grabbing the pendant, a periapt of poison resistance, and sliding it on the silver chain.

The previous mission was actually their departure from the Auzcovyn five months ago. Xalryln and three of his soldiers escorted the company to a small cavern, where Nieral Moondown, the moon elf wizard who got them into that situation in the first place, had a private chamber. At the start of the mission, the company was promised fifteen emeralds each for their work and instead was drawn into a trap. Now, all three claimed their fifteen emeralds and a little extra. Most of the small room had been picked over already, but Xalryln gave them access to a small king's ransom of gems, coins, and magical items. Jarlaxle was like a child in a candy store, claiming many small magic items he stored in his bag and hat for later use, though he wore the periapt openly, as well as a ring of water walking he suspected had a few stronger properties.

Drizzt and Entreri only claimed their share of gems, though they did take some basic magic items, such as a new supply of potions and a few rings of fireballs and sustenance. Drizzt's greatest find was a brilliant silver dagger of obvious elven craft that sent a surge of electricity when it was held into flesh. Despite this new acquisition, he still kept his cheaply made dagger for some kind of sentimentality.

"So how have your companions been faring?" Kimmuriel asked. "I am still surprised the Do'Urden renegade is still part of your company. One would think this would not quite be his cup of tea."

Jarlaxle gave a slight smile as he picked his belt from the bed and placed it around his slender hips.

"Well, I have my own personal opinion on that matter, Jarlaxle said, picking his high-cut vest off the floor and putting it on. "It is the curse of youth; one is so able and virile at his age, yet mentally he does not even understand himself or his full capacity. Then the hulking beast of full adulthood begins to loom and all his ideals and childish expectations fall. Drizzt needed a way to find himself as a grown man, and I certainly hope I adequately provided it."

"Has Jarlaxle become a mentor," Kimmuriel said with a small smile, "or even an older brother to a wayward young drow? How very lovely."

"Maybe I am getting soft in my later years," Jarlaxle said, stringing his vest. "Or maybe not."

Jarlaxle let out a wicked laugh, as he sat on the bed and picked his boots from the floor.

"I trust all matters are well in Menzoberranzan?" Jarlaxle asked.

"All is well," Kimmuriel said rising. "The usual routine; death here, treachery there."

"Good, I will talk to you again soon."

Kimmuriel bowed as he faded from view and returned to Menzoberranzan.

Jarlaxle finished putting on his boots and rose, putting on his hat and collecting his rainbow cloak from a nearby chair. With a final smoothing of his garments, he drew a wand from his belt, spoke a command word, and tapped himself. A second later he was in a small alleyway a short distance away from the tavern that was his destination. He casually made his way onto the street and walked with a swift stride. It was only appropriate he arrive before his companions so he could chide them about being late.

Unfortunately he passed by one wall to see Entreri leaning against it, arms folded face in a look of smug anticipation.

"Must you always spoil my fun," Jarlaxle groaned.

"I would never think to do anything of the sort," Entreri said mockingly.

Drizzt then came out of a side alley, followed by a man wearing the red striped helm and black armor of a Baldur's Gate patrolman. The two exchanged parting greetings before clasping forearms. Jarlaxle saw Drizzt slip a small cloth from his black leather bracer into the hand of the guard, a cloth most likely containing a few gems in tribute. The guard then turned in the opposite direction and swiftly walked away.

"I thought we weren't focusing on business tonight," Jarlaxle said. "I thought we agreed tonight would be about merry making and not money making."

"So tell me who are you and in what hole did you shove Jarlaxle?" Drizzt said with a smirk.

Entreri gave a small snicker as the three began walking down the street, exchanging small words about the evening.

Jarlaxle paid attention to the small talk, but his conversation with Kimmuriel was still on his mind. He fixed his gaze on Drizzt, who gave Entreri a teasing glare over some snide comment the human made about his assassin skills. Jarlaxle noted his white hair had grown out in the past few months and he kept it pulled back into a small ponytail. The scar along the length of his jaw stuck out and combined with his slightly hardened features and cold lavender eyes to make him look like a boy who had truly become a man. In a flash of recollection, the mercenary swore he saw some of Zaknafein's features in Drizzt's face.

Drizzt Do'Urden was a different person than the unstable youth who joined their company eight months earlier. He was no longer the idealistic hero, nor was he the raging animal he became after his wife's death. Instead he was now a calculating, brutal drow rogue who held himself with more confidence and clarity; his suicidal rage now turned into passion with a purpose. It seemed as though Drizzt Do'Urden had truly found himself.

Jarlaxle smiled and returned his attention to the street, adding his own contributions the conversation as the three rogue kings walked side by side towards their next adventure.

THE END

Author's Note: "The Lesser Evil" was the end result of a seven month writer's block finally broken after I picked up the _Paths of Darkness_ series last fall after finishing _The Legacy _series in the spring. _Servant of the Shard_ made me fall completely in love with Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri; two characters I had disliked until this book and now fully saw their potential. I then read _Sea of Swords_ and Drizzt's harrowing final battle with Ellifain planted an idea in my head. It was an idea I played around with while reading _The Hunter's Blade's Trilogy_. _The Lone Drow_, with all its descriptions of Drizzt giving into his darker nature, sealed the creative deal and planted another question in my mind: what would make Drizzt Do'Urden become completely evil? What could fully break his morals and turn him into the evil creature he vowed he would never become? After completing _The Two Swords_, which seemed to bring up more questions about Drizzt's nature than it answered, my own answers to that question are on these pages now.

As an English major, I combined various elements of gothic fiction with psychoanalytical criticism of the books. I also combined my own fascination with the generic concept of evil as defined in various role playing games, such as the supposedly black-and-white concept of alignment in the _Dungeons and Dragons_ universe and the savage, yet somewhat loyal vampires of the Sabbat in _Vampire: The Masquerade_. Other influences came from various films, such as the dark urban fable _Sin City_; _Pink Floyd's The Wall_, a tale of a modern hero who slowly goes insane; and _Donnie Darko_, the wondrously screwed-up story of an emotionally disturbed adolescent (give him two swords, put him in a medieval setting, and give him a goodly purpose and the resemblance is disturbing). I did notice a few other fan-fics very briefly dealing with the concept of Drizzt turning evil, and I will say "Go Fish" by Lady Serpentine (a short, yet amusing description of a card game between Drizzt and Elaith Craulnober) gave me a few ideas. Music was also a huge influence. I listened to _Comalies_ by Lacuna Coil repeatedly during the first half of the story (especially the ironically titled song "The Ghost Woman and the Hunter") as Marilyn Manson's _The Golden Age of Grotesque_ became the theme for the second half; though listening to the end song from _Donnie Darko_ ("Mad World" by Gary Jules) on the radio in a dingy secondhand clothing store in Concord, NH gave me the full nerve to write this story in the first place.

Now the rest is history. I would like to give my sincerest thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story on Lavender Eyes and as well as my fan-fic study buddies Suzanne and WitchWolf. I know elements are appearing in at least one person's role-playing game, while I also recommend checking out "A Drow Inside" by Lady Hally, a story that seems to be a fan-fic of my fan-fic (which is indeed an honor).

I assure you all; the adventures of The Rogue Kings will be continued. I will probably take a small break from this wonderfully exhausting project and come out with a few short pieces and maybe a longer one in the future. This has been my first experience writing fan fiction and I appreciate all the help and support I have gotten from everyone.


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